


Pass & Fail

by INTPSlytherin_reylove97



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Student/Teacher, College Student Rey (Star Wars), Denial of Feelings, F/M, Falling In Love, Hate to Love, Professor Ben Solo, References to Shakespeare, Shakespeare Quotations, Sort Of, Teacher-Student Relationship, you'll see - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-11
Updated: 2020-09-05
Packaged: 2021-03-01 19:47:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 56,581
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23602579
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/INTPSlytherin_reylove97/pseuds/INTPSlytherin_reylove97
Summary: “You do realize if you don’t pass, I’ll have to ultimately fail you?”“That’s usually how grades work, sir.” Rey tilted her head back, staring up at the shotty popcorn ceiling of Professor Solo’s shoebox office. Better to feign disinterest than reveal the true panic she experience at the mention of ‘failure’. “I fail to complete the work and pass the exams, then you’ll have to fail me. You have no other choice. I do not see the problem.”“The problem,” Professor Solo leaned back in his desk chair, “Miss Johnson, is you are failing perfectly.”....Or: Rey is purposely failing her Shakespeare Literature course and Professor Ben Solo is not here for her brand of bullshit.
Relationships: Rey/Ben Solo | Kylo Ren
Comments: 395
Kudos: 551
Collections: Anniversary Fic Exchange 2020





	1. Failing Perfectly

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Shestoolazytologin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shestoolazytologin/gifts).



> I have danced around this trope for years, but I am finally taking the plunge...……..but in my own way :)
> 
> Prompt: Student Rey keeps failing professor Ben’s class on purpose. One day, he calls her to office hours.

“You do realize if you don’t pass, I’ll have to ultimately fail you?”

“That’s usually how grades work, sir.” Rey tilted her head back, staring up at the shotty popcorn ceiling of Professor Solo’s shoebox office. Better to feign disinterest than reveal the true panic she experience at the mention of ‘failure’. “I fail to complete the work and pass the exams, then you’ll have to fail me. You have no other choice. I do not see the problem.”

“The problem,” Professor Solo leaned back in his desk chair, reaching into his top desk drawer, “Miss Johnson is you are failing _perfectly_.”

The scantron for their last quiz was placed in front of her.

Red dashes lined the right panel. One right after the other. Each marking the question wrong.

“I like to believe in fair grading, Miss Johnson.”

Rey refrained a snort. Of course the jerkwad believed in ‘fair grading.’

Another scantron was placed beside the previous one.

Then another.

All the last three quizzes.

Perfect red dashes along the scantron, in matching pattern.

Rey could only stare down at the three with a blank expression. If she reacted in the slightest then he’d see right through the act. See right through her carefully crafted ‘too-cool-for-school’ attitude.

She’d watched enough _She’s All That_ , _Never Been Kissed,_ and _10 Things I Hate About You_ to know the drill. Lean back in the chair, sit in the furthest seat in the class, maintain a face of complete disinterest. Act like a rebel without a cause.

Except she was a rebel and abso- _fucking_ -lutely had a cause.

Behind his desk and clubmaster frame glasses, Professor Solo squinted at her. “Do you think I’m an idiot, Miss Johnson?” Dark, considering eyes penetrated deep into her soul, attempting to figure out what exact game she was playing.

“ _Well_ …”

He held a hand up, stopping her words in their tracks. “Don’t answer that.” He waved the thought away, clasping his hands under his chin. “Statistically speaking, when someone fails a quiz or exam, they are more likely to get at least some answers correct. About half—a fifty percent. Especially in multiple choice.”

“Didn’t know Shakespearean Literature was a stats class too!” She grinned far too bright for it to be comfortable for either of them. Professor Solo winced at it’s ferocity. “I am really getting a bang for my buck here at Chandrila University.”

His perpetual frown deepened.

“My point is, Miss Johnson, is for some absurd reason you are purposefully failing my class.”

“It’s not on purpose. Maybe you are just not as skilled of an instructor you think you are.”

He brushed off the remark by not reacting at all, keeping his sharp focus on her, rooting her in place, like she were on trial for murder. Perhaps in his eyes, a student failing his course on purpose, was equivalent to a heinous crime. She wouldn’t be surprised if it happened to be, he getting a thrill from proving he was right and she was undoubtedly in the wrong.

The bastard.

“Then tell me why a student who’s made the Dean’s List for the last three consecutive years, has three scholarships, including the highest academic scholarship available at this institution, and received a near perfect score on the SAT, is failing my four-hundred level Shakespearean Literature course?”

Rey opened her mouth, finding she did not have a suitable excuse at the moment.

So she snapped her mouth shut and shrugged. A nonchalant, ‘I-don’t-care’ shrug.

She swore she heard a near growl come from Professor Solo, the man’s pale and mole scattered face flushing into an ombre cacophony of pinks.

“Maybe you’re a shit teacher.”

“I’m not as you put a ‘shit teacher.’” To further prove his point, he motioned behind him. Rows of accolades lined the wall behind his desk. The title _Professor of the Year_ was scattered amongst the array, along with awards for various scholarly pursuits. His Ph.D, Masters, and Bachelors were hung on proud display as well, rounding out the wall of Professor Solo’s achievements.

She didn’t know Shakespearean professors could even obtain a Ph.D. That one was surprising in the least.

“Miss Johnson, I think you are forgetting one small detail in this situation.” He reached into his desk drawer once more, producing an essay. Marked sparingly, the red ink a mere detail in the essence of the work. “To get into the course and be approved, students need to submit an essay. An essay on their favorite Shakespeare play. A basic essay, one that helps me weed out students who clearly don’t belong in the course and anyone who’d struggle.” He pushed the essay closer towards Rey. Her name was at the top. “You wrote the best essay I have ever had the privilege to receive during my time here at Chandrila.”

“So?”

“ _So_?” Professor Solo stood up, collecting the scantrons and shoving them back into his desk drawer. “ _So_ I know you are more than capable of completing assignments and doing well—nae, phenomenal—in this course.” He picked up his satchel from the bench behind him, throwing it over his shoulder. “ _So_ I expect your ass here every Wednesday and Friday during the latter half of office hours to discuss Shakespeare with me in order to see if you are really failing the course, or are acting like a brat—”

“ _Excuse me_?”

“—for whatever reason,” Professor Solo rolled his eyes. “Usually, I’d kick out students like you. But this isn’t some entry level course any idiot can get into. If you don’t pass this course, Miss Johnson, you are in jeopardy of losing _all_ of your scholarships.”

She tensed.

That little detail was pointedly _ignored_ in her plan.

Of course, he’d have to point it out. Be the voice of reason. One she refused to listen to despite it coming from a rather pouty mouth.

Across from her, Professor Solo eyed her, expecting her to crack.

But she didn’t. Instead, she stood up and matched his domineering gaze. “Fine. I’ll show up on Wednesday at—”

“Five,” he supplied, not leaving room for an argument, “that is the last hour of my office hours before night classes.”

She refrained from reminding him the dinning hall opened at five and was only open for an hour on most evenings. “Okay— _five_.”

She began to head to the door, except a clearing throat stopped her.

“Miss Johnson,” Professor Solo began, more somber than before, but annoyance still hanging on the fringes of his coat, “I’m doing this for your own good.” He peered down at her, the dark imposing eyes not dark at all…but soft brown. A brown reminding her of zucchini bread her favorite foster mother made her as a child. All warm and coated in nutmeg and cinnamon, but with a hint of earth. The zucchini brought the earthy tone, add more to the bread. Showing there was more under the initial taste. Professor Solo’s eyes sort of brought the same essence. A startling fact Rey could not unsee. “I see a lot of myself in you…and…and you don’t want to throw away your shot this late in the college game.”

Rey blinked, unsure of what to do with the quiet confession. “Okay—uh, bye Professor,” she muttered out, scurrying out of the office before he could say anything else.

Anything to make her question herself in the slightest.

Because Rey was finding Professor Solo perhaps wasn’t the vicious overlord her friends made him out to be.

_**~ End of Last Semester ~** _

“ _He gave you an F_?”

“I worked my ass off and now it was for nothing!” Finn bemoaned. He plummeted face first on to the couch, groaning pathetically into the worn and weathered blue pillows. He flipped up, looking up at Rey with tear stained cheeks. “What I am going to do? I’ll loose at least one of my scholarships and then I’ll have to pull out a larger loan and—agh!” He huffed. “It’s not fair.”

“Can’t you do anything to stop this? Maybe more extra credit?” Rey crouched down on the floor, meeting her friend eyelevel. “Or-or maybe just talk to him? I find most professors don’t take joy from failing students—”

“No,” Finn shook his head. He hugged one of the worn blue pillows to his chest like a teddy bear, squeezing the life out of the stuffing. “This guy is a legit asshole. Always assigned a ridiculous amount of reading and quizzes and essays—every other damn week we have an essay, Rey! Does he not realize he has to read to essays, which takes away more time from him and his personal life?” Finn all but screeched.

Rey chuckled. “Maybe he doesn’t have a personal life? Grading papers and giving students shit and unworkable assignments are his small joys in life,” she deadpanned.

“I bet you anything, that’s the case.” Finn shot up from the couch, body stricken with horror. “Did you know he gave Rose a ‘C’? For the _entire_ semester?” He shook his head. “The ineffable, wonderful, grade-grubbing Rose Tico, that we love and adore, a ‘ _C_ ’?”

“Uh— _wow_.” Rey was at a loss for words, not use to Rose receiving such a low grade in any course, let alone the one pertaining to her double major—Engineering and English. “But…Shakespeare isn’t for everyone—”

“But required for English majors,” Finn reminded her, low and defeated. “There is no getting out of it for majors. And get this—he requires all students to submit a pre-rec essay in order to be ‘approved,’” his flamboyant air quotes avoided smacking Rey in the face by a hair, “for his course. What asshole does that for the majors? The fucking majors! Dude, we have no other choice, _but_ to take the course! And get this—he’s denied majors! He’s denied so many majors from the course and Dean Organa won’t do anything about it!”

Rey winced at the mention of her mentor’s name. Dr. Organa was a wonderful woman—diligent, stern, wise as a whip and could talk anyone in circles. And that was just scratching the surface; the list went on. She worked in the Social Sciences Department, head of the Sociology Program, but she also happened to be Dean of Students. A strong position for any professor vying to be University President one day. However the esteemed Dr. Organa was known to put her duties on the back burner more than once in her tenure of the position. She grading to complete, students to mentor in her special ‘Sociology Society’ as she liked to call those in her advanced group.

“She is a busy woman, Finn.” Rey’s weak defense was met with another petulant huff. “Maybe she expects this behavior from Dr. Solo—”

“He prefers ‘Professor Solo’,” came Finn’s bitter correction, “apparently he thinks the term ‘Dr.’ is pretentious and of no use when he is the teaching setting.” He scoffed. “Asshole.”

Rey frowned. She didn’t see the problem, but then again she’d never been in Professor Solo’s classroom. The full experience was an illusion to her.

“Are you sure you didn’t…I don’t know,” she chewed her lips together, hoping she didn’t sound too insensitive as the next words tumbled from her mouth, “do something to warrant the failure?”

Finn’s jaw dropped. “I…I cannot even look at you Rey Evelyn Johnson!”

“That is not my middle name,” Rey muttered, standing up from her crouched caring-concerned-friend position. “And sometimes professors can be assholes Finn, but that doesn’t mean uni students aren’t either.”

“Go ask Rose then!” Finn tossed the pillow at Rey’s face. She dodged with ease, the lumpy pillow plopping pathetically on the floor behind her. “See if you believe her about Solo!”

And Rey did just that.

She showed up for her and Rose’s usual standing lunch date the next day. Her friend came with a lunch pail filled with thermos and utensils. Warm, homemade Vietnamese noodles greeted Rey with open arms, her and Rose clunking thermos together in cheer as their meal commenced. Rose and Paige Tico had a habit of making more than enough for their dinners to bring leftovers the next day for lunch.

And Rey was not one to say no to food.

“So,” she shoved a forkful of noodles into her mouth, slurping to get all the bits in, “Finn mentioned you guys got back your grades for the end of the semester. Before the final even.” Finals began the following week, the three completing their last week of normal, scheduled classes for the semester. “And he said you got a ‘C’—”

“Professor Solo is a brilliant professor,” Rose defended, halting Rey’s mid-chew questions, “he knows the material better than anyone and likes the plays and sharing his knowledge,” she stabbed into her thermos with vengeance, “but he is an asshole of a man.”

Rey swallowed, prepared to shoved another round of noodles in her mouth as she spoke. “How so?”

“He…” Rose shook her head, “…he expects everyone to be as enthusiastic about Shakespeare as him, and that is impossible. So he sort of takes it out on students who don’t have the caliber to keep up with him.”

“So you didn’t have the caliber to keep up with him?”

“No,” Rose snapped, eyes darkening, “ _I did_. I turned in all my assignments on time, wrote them to perfection, aced all the quizzes and the history portions of the course and he still fucking gave me a ‘C’.”

“Why?”

“On my last essay he wrote at the end, that while I was a ‘good student’ and knew the material ‘well enough’, my work was ‘uninspired.’” Rose sighed, the criticism affecting her like a deep wound in her chest. “Whatever the hell that means.”

Rey hummed in understanding, though struggled to wrap her head around the issue.

“Do…do you think he’d fail me if I took the course?”

Rose stared at her, dead in the eye.

A cackle of laughter escaped her. Other students and faculty passing by the picnic table in the quad sent concerned and annoyed looks their way.

Rey shrunk at the attention, head tucking back into her noodles.

Inhale in succession, Rose caught her breath. “Honey—you couldn’t fail a course even if you tried!” She picked up her water, taking a hearty sip, before facing Rey with a sweet, mocking smile. “You are too smart and perfect,” the word prickled her, Rey unable to help but frown, “and a teacher’s pet to _fail_ a course.”

“But I’m not an English major,” Rey was quick to remind her, “I might not ‘get’ Shakespeare.”

“But you read like your life depends on it,” Rose countered, poking her fork towards Rey’s face, “and I know for a fact you like Shakespeare. I’ve seen you mini-library in your dorm.” Eyes alight, Rose nudged Rey, giddy. “Tell me—what’s your favorite Shakespeare?”

“Uh… _King Lear,_ I guess?”

“Solo would _worship_ the ground you walked on if you stepped into his class.”

~*~

When Rey got back to her dorm later that afternoon, she signed back into her course registrar. A list of Sociology and general education classes stared back at her, she accepted and locked into each course. The next semester was meant to be her ‘easy semester;’ five courses, two of which only met once a week. She’d taken full semester loads for the entirety of her university career.

Clicking on a separate tab, she double checked the university’s course catalogue. Once she found the code for Shakespeare Literature with Dr. B. Solo, she entered it into her course registrar.

Within seconds the course appeared on her list, two little asterisks at the end of the course name.

_** Pre-Rec Required/Department Approval_

She clicked on the highlighted asterisk. A quick blurb of the required assignment and form number needed popped up.

_A pre-rec essay on any Shakespeare play of your choosing…_

She opened a Word doc without second thought, knowing she needed to get to work if she was going to meet the cutoff date.

So much for an easy semester. But proving her point weighed more than a light course load.


	2. Professor- Professor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ben is really tired of the charade Rey is trying to give him,
> 
> Rey on the other hand is really tired of Professor Solo being nice. Like actually nice. WTF?

“Alright, _Cymbeline_ ,” Professor Solo announced as Rey entered his office, “summary. Go.”

“Uh—” Rey wracked her brain. She read the play. Took the basic notes in class. Listened to Professor Solo rant on Imogene for the duration of class time, like the rest of the students. “—she gets married against her father’s wishes, so her husband is exiled, husband turns out to be shitty and bets on her virtue, goes on the run because she is ridiculed, cross dresses, finds long lost siblings and there is a happy ending in there somewhere?”

“That…” he glanced down at the graded quizzes on his desk, “was a better description than what some of your classmates gave.”

Rey felt a smug smirk tug on her lips, yet kept herself in check. She sat down in the chair across from Professor Solo, dropping her backpack down at her feet. “It doesn’t take a genius to crack down Shakespeare. He did in fact write for the common bloke.”

“That he did,” Professor Solo nodded once, “but he also wrote for the intellectual. The Queen of England was a frequent audience member.” His eyes narrowed. “And don’t think I didn’t notice you didn’t turn in the quiz. At all.”

She sunk a little in her seat.

“I…didn’t know the answers.”

“The quiz was handwritten and just a summary on the play,” Professor Solo deadpanned. “You did that. Just now.”

“I could have googled it before I came in—”

“But I could have discussed anything with you pertaining to class,” he reasoned. “You knew the answer because you read the play. I know you did.”

“Oh really?” Rey leaned forward, challenging him. “How?”

“You looked like you wanted to tear your hair out when we were discussing Imogen and Posthumus relationship as—” he raised his massive hands in air quotes, disgust pulling on his long, mole speckled face “—‘couple’s goals.’”

“He bet on her virtue, then tried to kill her when an asshat claimed to bang her instead of trusting his wife. She was harassed and her husband didn’t believe her? Pray tell, how the fuck is that couple’s goals?”

“It’s not,” Professor Solo said, a chuckle bookending the remark. “Glad someone sees that.”

“How can I not?” Rey shrugged. “If anything we should have discussed how relevant the text is to today to sexual harassment. How it shows the blatant mistrust between couples! People are still people—they don’t change. Just society and the circumstances do.”

“And that is why Shakespeare has stood the test of time.” A smile ghosted over Professor Solo’s lips, his thoughtful gaze locked on the far corner of the shoebox room. “Just how you said it—people are still people. Desires and cruelties are still the same.” His eyes then latched on her, challenging. “Didn’t you claim you didn’t read? Still going to row that boat?”

Rey scowled.

He sighed, rubbing a massive hand under his jaw. “Alright then…” Picking up from the stack on his desk, he began to sift through and grade.

She frowned, sitting up. “That’s…it?”

He looked up, pushing his glasses higher on his nose in the process. “You already proved my point for the day. You do read. You do know the material. I can give you a C on the ‘quiz’ since it is technically late, but you did have the best answer.” He shrugged. “There is nothing else to discuss. You aren’t dismissed until that,” he pointed to the clock on the wall behind her, “says six o’clock. So get comfortable.”

“So you aren’t going to grill me for more information?” Rey watched the man carefully, unsure if she was understanding the situation correctly.

Professor Solo paused, eyes lifting from the essay he’d been grading to her in a flash. “No. I’m not. I’m not going to push you to talk about class or Shakespeare, but if you desire to talk about class or Shakespeare, or perhaps why you intend to fail my class with such devotion, I will not object. The entire hour is yours. And it may help your grade.” He violently crossed out a line on the essay, and then another, before flipping the page with a resting disgruntled expression. “But clearly you aren’t going to talk, so might as well catch up on grading.”

“You’re an arsehole,” she blurted out. Rey could not fathom why he was treating her like some petulant student in detention. She wasn’t a child; she was a grown adult who didn’t need to abide by his unnecessary rules.

“Excuse me?” Professor Solo’s zucchini bread brown eyes shot up to her. A tinge of curiosity and anger meld together in his gaze, both amused yet offended by the accusation.

“You-are-an-arsehole,” she repeated; slow, each syllable enunciated in clear diction. “In class and perhaps in life outside of your little office too. You are an arsehole.”

“Got any evidence to back that claim?” he shot back, the essays on his desk forgotten. “Because I don’t think asshole would go out of his way to make sure his brightest student isn’t fucking over her life by failing this class.”

“You have and have had plenty of bright students,” Rey felt the need to remind him, her friends coming to mind, “I am not the first, nor will I be the last. I can withdraw if I am on track for failure.” She knew a withdraw wouldn’t look great on her transcripts, especially as she considered her options for grad school, most of the programs she planned to apply to not looking for applicants until the following year. “Why does it matter to you if I am ‘fucking over my life’ as you so eloquently put?”

“Because you aren’t someone who deserves to fail,” he stated, the fact as simple as the sky being blue. He leaned forward, making sure she didn’t look away from him. “I am not a professor who enjoys seeing their best students fail. Or any student fail. I want them to do their best, and sometimes students don’t do that, and they get a grade they maybe don’t deserve as person, but sure as hell have earned as a student.” He huffed, scrubbing at the scruff along his jaw. A shadow grew in steadily though his pale and mole speckled skin, with his dark hair starting to brush near his shoulders. Sleep did not seem to be his friend, a vague haggardness to his long face.

Professor Solo looked exhausted. More so than most of the professors and students Rey encountered.

She almost felt sorry for him.

Almost.

“If I could give everyone an A, I would,” he declared, starting to shrug out of his tweedy suit jacket. His grey checkered button-up underneath was wrinkled, a small soy sauce stain near the collar from his lunch. She could still smell the fried rice and mushroom chicken in the air, the _Sunrise Chef_ bag sticking out from his little trash bin by the door. “But doing that wouldn’t help anyone. Wouldn’t light fire under anyone’s butts, wouldn’t make students consider if this is the right major for them, or maybe cause them to seek help. If I gave you an A with the effort you are showing, then I could very well give you a complex.”

Rey’s eyebrows shot up. “A complex?”

“Yes,” Professor Solo nodded, “letting you think you can coast by in this class if you show up and just bat your pretty hazel eyes in greeting. That’s not how life fucking works; you gotta try, especially if you are capable.” He picked up his blue pen and began working through another essay in his massive stack.

“I am not an impressionable child,” Rey began, attempting to wrap her head around the fact her professor feared giving his students— _her_ —a complex of all things. “I highly doubt you would be able to give me a complex. Complexes are usually instilled in us at young ages—”

“How old are you?” He did not bother to lift his eyes from his grading. Another slash, scribble, and marking. The essay was flipped over to the done pile.

He must have been the fastest comprehensive reader she had ever encountered, or the arsehole she claimed—and he denied—he happened to be.

“Twenty-two.”

“I rest my case.”

She rolled her eyes. “Young ages, being _childhood_ ,” Rey stressed. “Complexes are developed in childhood, between the ages of three to, _well_ , throughout teenage years to semi-early adulthood depending on that persons individual development—physically, emotionally, and mentally.” Damn, maybe he did have a point about giving his students a complex. “But the fact of the matter is most complexes are developed from childhood traumas and environment. I doubt you can give someone a complex—and the term complex is rather crude as it—”

“Psych or Sociology?” His deep, clear voice cut through her rant like butter.

“What?”

“Psych or Sociology?” Professor Solo’s eyes looked more magnified with his glasses sitting correctly on his nose, instead of slipping down as they always seem to do these days. “Your major. I know you aren’t a English major based on how you speak about Shakespeare and the fact you don’t go out of your way to correct grammar,” he rolled his eyes at his own little joke, “so—Psych or Sociology?”

“Sociology,” she stated, proud of her department.

“Ah,” he exhaled, “that explains why you sound exactly like my mother when talking about complexes. She’s a Sociology prof here.”

Her eyebrows bunched together, stunned by the comparison, let alone by the fact his mother was also a professor at the university. “Who’s your mother?”

“Dr. Organa.”

Rey’s stomach dropped into the abyss.

~*~

“Your son works here?” Rey announced as she barged into Dr. Organa’s office the following morning.

Cup of coffee poised mid-drink, Dr. Organa’s eyes lifted from her laptop to Rey.

A familiar brown.

Just like Professor Solo’s.

Damn.

“Good morning to you too, Reina,” her mentor greeted. Rey gritted her teeth at the use of her birthname. Dr. Organa rarely used it, but when she did, it was when she decided to lecture Rey on a ‘life lesson.’ “Didn’t know we were so casual with each other to the point we disregard politeness.” She took a long sip of her coffee, before setting it down on her USB mug hotplate. “But what about my son?”

Rey hung up her jacket and scarf at the coat rack by the entrance, juggling her messenger bag with her other arm. Dr. Organa’s office was marginally larger than Professor Solo’s, able to fit her own array of books, desk, a TA’s desk and little coffee station in the space. A bit of elbow room, but not much. Maybe the extra space was an illusion, the window view making the office appear larger than reality. Before answering Dr. Organa, Rey sat down in the seat across from her—usually where a freshman or sophomore nervously asked for Dr. Organa’s approval on one form or another—and handed her the graded Intro to Sociology mid-term papers.

Despite being Dean of Students and Chair of her department, Leia Organa still loved to teach an intro course here and there, leaving the grading to one of her TAs; Rey just happened to be one of her TAs for the last year and half.

Dr. Organa accepted the folder of graded papers—

“I marked the ones I found especially fascinating. There is one on—”

And dropped them into the course’s designated basket on the shelf behind her. “I don’t care. I probably won’t have time read them, sadly, before I have to hand them back.”

Rey tried not to be disheartened by the honest response. Dr. Organa was busy. Of course she didn’t have time to read students papers, or hear Rey’s honest opinion on the ones she found exceptional. She also did not allow herself to dwell on possibility Dr. Organa never read her own ‘Intro’ midterm paper.

She took a hefty gulp of coffee, nodding to Rey again. “You mentioned my son?”

“Ah—uh, yes,” Rey stuttered out, hugging her messenger bag to her lap like she was on the Metro. “He is one of profs. I’m taking Shakespeare—”

Her mentor’s eyebrows shot up. Utter disbelief shrouded her immaculate face of make-up. “You’re taking Shakespeare?”

“As an elective,” Rey supplied, feeling a sudden urge to defend her choice of class. “Thought it would be fun.”

“You _like_ Shakespeare?” She gave out a ‘huh,’ amused yet riddled with a vague disgust on the matter. “I never pegged you as a Shakespeare lover.”

“I like to give the old Bard a read or two once in a blue moon.” Her attempt of a joke fell flat, Dr. Organa still processing. “He’s timeless.”

“And misogynistic,” she grumbled, rolling her eyes. “The way women are treated in his plays.” Dr. Organa shook her head. “It’s unbelievable.”

“Actually, he was pretty progressive for his time period. Several women in high roles of authority, women who fought for what they wanted and had full fleshed desires and vices. Take Beatrice from Much Ado About Nothing for example—”

Dr. Organa held a hand up, stopping her. “God, you sound like him.”

“Who?”

“My son,” Dr. Organa said simply, “with the way you talk about Shakespeare, wouldn’t be surprised if you are his best student.”

Rey withered on the inside.

Yet Dr. Organa paid no mind, well invested into her own thoughts. “That is Ben’s—ugh, I mean _Professor Solo_ ,” she rolled her eyes at the name, a fond motherly smile on her lips, “territory. He gets it from his Uncle and Grandfather. They were all Shakespeare enthusiasts. Comes with the Skywalker dramatics.” She stood up from her desk, taking her mug with her. “I never liked the guy,” came her blunt remark, Dr. Organa pouring herself more coffee. She waved to Rey and the mugs on the shelf above the coffee machine. “Help yourself. You look like a dead woman walking. Can’t have my TA collapse on me. Who else would I have grade my papers?”

Rey took the offer, grabbing her usual mug with the little pugs on it with the phrase, ‘Life is ruff’ painted in bright red. “I uh, didn’t know you even had a son, let alone one who was a professor here,” Rey said, bringing the conversation back to the original topic.

“Faculty knows, if that is what you are wondering,” Dr. Organa assured her, blowing on her coffee between each word. “But Ben and I don’t like mentioning it to students.”

“He told me.”

“Then you must be the exception, my dear,” she tutted, heading back to her desk. “He thinks students will think less of him if they know, which I think is ridiculous since he earned everything in his own right. But he has this damn pride complex,” she huffed, “I have no idea where he gets it from.”

A knock came from the door.

Kaydel, the department secretary, poked her head in. “Dr. Organa, the department meeting got pushed up because Amilyn has a doctor’s appointment she can’t miss, but the change will cut into your prep time. Do you want to reschedule the presentation this afternoon for another day due to the change?”

“No, of course not.” Dr. Organa began to type on her laptop. “I can get it done in time with the change, I’m not going to have you reschedule—I am not one to back on my word. It will get done, if it kills me, damn it. I will not let anyone think I am unprepared.”

Watching the display, Rey had a few guesses where Professor Solo got his pride.

Dr. Organa didn’t bother looking up as she dove head first into work and waved Kaydel off.

“Rey, I have a new stack of quizzes and assignments for you to grade. They are on your desk. Bring them back by the end of the week and make sure you complete your time sheet for this month.”

Taking the dismissal, Rey grabbed her belongings, the mug of coffee (having every intention to bring it back at their next briefing) and the new stack of papers and left her mentor’s office. She honestly shouldn’t have expected much from the encounter; Dr. Leia Organa was a busy person and had work to be done. Talking with a student about personal matters was not part of the criteria.

~*~

“Another black coffee for the diligent student,” Jannah announced as she poured Rey’s mug full. “And my boss,” she nodded to the man with a stoic face and set jaw behind the counter, “Mando, wants to know if you had water since you sat down three hours ago?”

“Uh.” Rey chewed on the inside of her cheek, a sweeping flush of guilt consuming her. “No.”

Jannah sighed, disappointed. “A cupa water for the diligent student, ASAP!”

Mando’s grunt was heard across the room. He poured a glass of water and set it on the pick-up counter.

“He’s not going to bring it to you,” Jannah told her point blank. “He needs to see with his own eyes you are drinking that H20 before he serves you anymore coffee.”

Rey nodded, seeing the tenderness in the rather militant gesture. “He’s a kind man.”

The barista scoffed. “When he wants to be,” she muttered, “but he sees you around enough to care. I’d take it if I were you.”

With that, Jannah nodded and walked off, back to behind the counter to help the next customers.

Deciding to follow her advice, Rey set down her grading and marched over to the pick-up counter. She waved to Mando. He remained stoic, almost as though he were wearing a face of neutrality.

She picked up the glass, about to walk away—

“You need to drink it here,” Mando ordered. “Or we refuse service.”

“Oh,” Rey uttered, surprised by the directness. “I don’t think you legally can—”

“This is a private business and I have the right to refuse service to anyone. I one had a student years ago collapse from dehydration. Will not let it happen again,” he stressed, stern eyes locked on her. “This is the way.”

Realizing he wasn’t joking nor would he let her go so easily, Rey drank the water.

Mando nodded, turning back to the register to ring up the next customer.

As she sipped her water, she surveyed the coffeeshop. Only a customer here and there. Small and quaint, just outside of campus. A perfect place to get some homework and grading done without having a friend or classmate peering over her shoulder and asking what she was doing.

Her eyes drifted to the slowly growing line. A girl was reciting her complicated order to Mando, the man’s frustration growing by the minute, yet somehow he remained his cool. Her eyes then slowly moved to the man behind her and—

Rey choked on her water.

“Fuck,” she muttered. Water sloshed up her nose and on her face and neck, she making an sopping mess of herself.

“Rey?” Professor Solo’s voice sounded closer than she expected.

She willed herself to look up.

Standing behind the Complicated Mocha Order Girl, was her professor, looking like he just woke up from a fitful nap in his desk chair. Tired bags under his eyes, moppy hair, and even scruffier facial hair than from the day before, Professor Solo looked…haggard.

Depressingly so.

But his eyes were that soft, zucchini bread brown, concern meshed in the gentleness.

“Uh—Hey!” She wiped under her chin with the back of her hand. And then wiped the back of her hand on the backside of her jeans. “Hey-hey, how are you Professor?”

“Fine,” he said distractedly, his gaze on her and her ill attempt to clean herself up with a stray napkin and her own oversized sweatshirt sleeves. “Do you need help?”

“I’m fine!” She called out.

Eyes landed on her, Rey realizing she more so yelped than gave any human worthy reply.

“I mean,” she cleared her throat, lowering her voice, “I’m fine. Just spilled water.”

His eyes roved all over in a calculating, silent yet earnest judgmental sweep. “I can see that. I’m pretty sure everyone can see that.”

An involuntary scowl pulled on her lips. “Thank you for _that_ observation, Professor.” Picking up the glass once more, she chugged the rest of the water. “Finished, Mando! I can drink all the coffee my heart desires!” She waved the empty glass in declaration, like it was a golden trophy before setting it back down. Turning back around, she saluted Professor Solo, who continued to watch her with a vague cautiousness one would akin to watching a ticking-time bomb. “Good afternoon, Professor. See you when I see you.”

She marched off to her corner table, cringing to herself.

Why the fuck did she salute him like some moron?

Picking up her mug of coffee, she took a grateful sip and got back to work.

That is until, a shadow fell over the short answer she was attempting to decipher if it was a great insight to a subculture…or tone-deaf; completely and utterly tone-deaf.

“Doing my mother’s grunt work I see.”

Rey’s head snapped up, finding Professor Solo standing behind the chair opposite her. His satchel was thrown over his shoulder, half open with various paperback copies of classic novels and—of course—a Shakespeare popping out.

_Macbeth_. Their next play on the syllabus.

“It is a privilege to be Dr. Organa’s TA,” she replied, a personal mantra she told herself when it felt like hell doing said ‘grunt work’.’ “One day she’ll write me an excellent letter of recommendation for whatever graduate program I intend to attend.”

“Or,” Solo dragged out, looking down at her—for once sans glasses, “she will pawn off the letter of rec duties to another TA, or assistant, or secretary. Or maybe even her son when she has too many requests, and just sign off on it once she’s read it and felt ‘eh, that’s good enough.’”

“I’m her favorite TA. She’s told me so.”

A forced, bitter smile formed on his lips.

“I bet she’ll love it when she finds out her favorite TA is failing her son’s class.”

“You _wouldn’t_ ,” she gritted out, her heartrate rising.

Solo scoffed, shaking his head. “Of course not. I respect FERPA laws.” He pulled out the empty chair across from her, taking a seat. “But I am curious what is going to happen when you fail and you have to explain to _Dr. Organa_ ,” disdain dripped from his lips at his mother’s title, “why you can no longer be her TA when student workers must maintain a C or higher at each midterm and end of term.”

She knew a bluff when she saw one. “That’s a bullshit clause. No one follows it.”

“Because shitty profs don’t report it,” Solo shot back, calm and collected as he explained the realities of the situation. “And if you don’t attempt some improvement by official mid-term in two weeks, I am going to have to report it.”

“I’d be in jeopardy of losing my scholarship.” Rey’s grip on her pen tightened, the plastic near cracking. “I cannot lose my scholarship.”

“I get it,” he assured her, “I really do, and that is why I am warning you—”

“Why are you being so weirdly nice in the pushy sort of way!” she asked, dropping her pen hard on her stack of assignments. “You are supposed to be an arsehole! A complete and utter arsehole, yet you want me to succeed and you actually make logical sense in your grading. It doesn’t make sense!”

His plush lips dipped in a confused frown. As he opened his mouth to speak, Jannah popped up with his order.

A white chocolate mocha.

Rey near gagged at the sight. The drink was sugar on sugar, mixed with—guess what?—more sugar.

“Here is your usual Ben,” Jannah gave a pleasant smile, but it vanished in an instant, replaced by a frightening glower. “Mando says if you two are going to have a row, take it outside. This is a peaceful coffeeshop, not a pub.” Her smile returned in full force. “Enjoy your drinks!”

They both watched her walk off, a bounce in her step.

“She frightens me,” Rey confessed.

“She frightens us all,” Ben agreed, turning back to face her. “Rey…Miss Johnson,” he corrected, as though remembering he was indeed her professor, “I just want to understand why someone as intelligent as yourself is purposely failing. It physically pains me to witness it,”

“Because…” She sighed, slumping pathetically in her chair. “Because…I…don’t…get…Shake—”

“A real answer, please,” he insisted.

“Because I…”

She hated how hopeful and patient his zucchini bread brown eyes looked; it did funny things to her gut. Like tumbles and twists and little flutters. And made her think silly, girly— _cough_ *lustful* _cough_ —things. Like maybe he only looked at _her_ on that way—and really he shouldn’t be looking at her in that way—yet she sort-maybe-kinda _liked_ he was looking at her that way. Even when he looked like textbook, classic shit, she found herself liking the hopeful way he looked at her.

Which is why she said—

“…I don’t know.”

Hope diminished out of Solo’s eyes. Instead, coldness consumed it’s place. “Alright, we are going to continue with the lying.”

“I’m not lying.”

“You are a terrible liar,” he told her plainly, “you look like a piece of you is dying inside when you lie and everyone within a five foot radius can see it.”

“Well, fuck.” She…actually did not know that about herself. Go figure.

“Yeah,” Solo patted the table once, then stood up and grabbed his coffee. “Since we are going to continue this lying and failing charade,” he waved to all of her, “I’ll see you at five o’clock on Friday, Miss Johnson to discuss the rise and fall of King Macbeth. If I were a gambler, I’d bet my discussion with you will be more riveting than anything your classmates could come up with.”

As though to rub salt in the wound, he saluted her in the same awkward way she did moments ago and left the coffeeshop.

She tried—and failed—to not look at his arse as he left.

“Damn,” she cursed.

“More coffee?” Jannah offered, quiet and acting like she had not heard the entire conversation. Poor acting, but she tried nonetheless.

“Just leave the whole pot.”

“Are you sure—”

“Just leave it. I need it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Honestly Rey is just digging herself deeper and deeper. Ay! This girl, I swear.
> 
> 'Cymbeline' is a Shakespearean Romance. A Romance included both comedic and dramatic elements of the Shakespearean play structure (i.e. Comedies always ended in marriage and Tragedies ended with a heap of bodies; Romances had both XD) , as well as being a later play in his life. His most popular Romance is 'Winter's Tale,' but I felt 'Cymbeline' would lead to interesting discussions and it has gained more popularity in the last decade amongst Shakespeare Festivals and theatre groups.


	3. Mafia King Henry

“He deserves to die!” Tallie cried out. “He’s a murderer!”

At the front of the classroom, Professor Solo pinched the bridge of his nose, glasses pushed up to his forehead. They were only twenty minutes into the hour and a half class, spending the majority of the beginning of class summarizing the play, _Macbeth_.

Then Professor Solo decided to throw a loaded question into the fifteen student class— _Did Macbeth deserve to die? And what crux event could have prevented his death? Or was it fate based on the pattern of his actions?_

No one was playing into the question.

Apparently a murderer, even in a Shakespeare play, was still a murderer.

“But I am asking if there was any other possible scenario where he does not _have_ to die,” Professor Solo explained once more. He leaned back against the whiteboard, tweed jacket rubbing away some of their vague _Macbeth_ timeline and series of events chart, written in his perfect cursive. “There is a pivotal moment— _the moment_ —where he has the choice.” He stood back up, snatching up the red whiteboard marker and circled each death by Macbeth’s hand. “One of these is the pivotal moment!” He tapped the board aggressively with the marker. “You just need to choose one and defend it!”

“But this shouldn’t be a question,” Tallie—or Talkie, as Rey dubbed her in her head, refuted, “because he is wrong and evil—”

  
“Macbeth is not evil!” Professor Solo all but bellowed to his students. “Not everyone who commits murder is evil, Miss Lintra. Have you studied Modernism? Hemmingway, Fitzgerald, Rilke, Brecht?” She nodded, though seemingly unsure. “They all discuss murder and many authors from the Modernism Era were in World War I. They had to kill—kill or be killed. Yes, the act of murder may be evil, but the intentions behind it are not always the case.”

Tallie shrunk in her seat, along with a few other students.

When Professor Solo thought you were wrong, well… you were fucking wrong and he’d make a fool out of you, just the slightest.

Professor Solo became desperate, pacing the front of the classroom. “Come on! Is anyone going to try and answer my question? Just pick an event in the play; any event I circled on the board.” The strip of carpet in the front of the room wasn’t enough for him, Professor Solo beginning to walk the length of their half-arsed discussion circle. His hands were shoved into his khaki pockets, brown eyes landing on each and every student in half-second increments. No one spoke or moved. “Maybe I need to explain this for you sensitive borderline late-millennials and gen-z-er’s to understand—just because you defend a fictional murderer in the classroom setting does not mean you are a murderer sympathizer.” He landed on Rey’s right, sitting on the surface of the empty desk beside her. “It’s fucking fake. And in Scotland. In the 11th century. I don’t know about you, but I have never been to Scotland in the 11th century, and I highly doubt any of you have been to 11th century Scotland.”

Rey swallowed a snort, sounding like a gagging cough if anything.

But who could blame her? That last bit was hilarious—students staring up at him, frightened of what he’d say next. Professor Solo hovering and roaming with his last brain cell of sanity, eyes a fraction sharper and larger with his glasses. Comedy in its truest form.

He nudged the leg of her desk. “Anything you’d like to share, Miss Johnson?”

“Uh—”

Rustling and whispers were heard from the English major corner of the room; as to be expected. They were never particular fond of when an ‘outsider’ joined one of their classes. They alienated both Rey and the two Theatre majors who had signed up for the course. Both of which talked their fair share in the last discussion on Wednesday, mostly talking about a production they’d seen of _Cymbeline_ as an assignment a few years back. Professor Solo has been fascinated by it, even going as far as googling production photos and sharing them with the class on the projector.

Needless to say, Rey was positive those two had an A. Professor Solo loved it when they brought something ‘different’ to the table. He always liked to hear something ‘different’ than the same old discussions.

“It was when he learned of his fate from the witches,” Rey said, earning a few glances of surprise. More so she spoke than anything. But Professor Solo remained unfazed, as though expecting her to speak up on the matter. “Macbeth is ambitious. He’s a war hero who adores the glory and the gore, but is a relatively decent man. But like I said, he’s ambitious. The witches prophecy was a challenge, one he had to take. Especially since he heard his most trusted friend, Banquo would have a family of kings for ages to come. Sure, we can blame Lady Macbeth for egging him on, fueling his desires and putting fear in him, but it comes down to the fundamentals of his character. He didn’t have to listen to his wife and kill King Duncan, but he did. He didn’t have to commit any of the murders; he had the opportunity of choice at each and every instance, but he did because of his own ambition. So the only time he could have avoided his rise and fall, all the death, is if he had never heard the prophecy.”

Her brain went into autopilot as she spoke, not even realizing she had stared off into a vague nowhere in the room. Blinking she looked up to find the few annoyed and intrigued faces of her peers.

The knowing gaze of Professor Solo pieced into her, he standing up from his spot on the desk. “And that right there—the tug of the will he-won’t he is the main tension in the play! Because we know Macbeth can be a decent guy. He was loved by his army, hell, his best friend was Banquo! There had to be some good in him, but he always made the ambitious choice…”

From there the lecture and discussion took off in another direction, Professor Solo reeling the students back into the conversation with their own opinions—whether they be right or wrong—Rey’s little two-cents vital, but lost in the mix.

Rey was perfectly okay with that.

~*~

He was eating a turkey, swiss, and avocado panni when she came into his office at five o’clock that afternoon.

“Great input today,” he said in greeting, covering his mouth as he spoke. Swallowing, he grabbed a napkin from his enormous stack of take-out napkins, all from various establishments within a ten mile radius from campus, and wiped his hands and mouth. “Class really came alive after your comment. You should comment more often.”

“I’d rather not.” Rey sat down in the chair opposite him, and dropped her bag on the floor between her feet. “I think I’ll leave it to the English majors.”

“God, no,” he groaned. “I can barely stand them.”

“Weren’t you an English major in undergrad?”

“Fuck no,” he gaped, offended by the assumption. “I have a B.A. in History with a Theatre Arts emphasis.” Looking at him now—the tweed, the glasses, the overall aura—Rey could see a young, twenty-two year old Ben Solo hanging out with the history buffs at the back of library. Wearing flannel, large glasses, and hair cut shorter. Perhaps short enough for her to see his ears…

She’d probably have a crush on him. Hang out by the archives to catch a glimpse of him because they’d have conflicting class schedules. And he’d see her once or twice, wave—or maybe just flat out ignore her. That would be a possibility too—

_Fuck_. What the hell was she doing? Professor Solo was what—twelve, fifteen—years her senior? She was _not_ having fantasies of what-if about him. No. Fuck, no.

Rey cleared her throat, shifting further back in her seat. “Then why don’t you teach for the Theatre Department?”

“Because my Masters is in Shakespeare and my PhD is in Comparative Mythology. I teach the occasional Theatre history course, but everything else in the theatrical realm is not my forte.” He shook his head, wrapping up the other half of his uneaten panni. “I am technically part of the English Department, but I get pulled into so many other courses in Anthro and Liberal Arts, so—” He shrugged, as though it were answer enough. “But what can you do? Small universities like to keep it all within the family and I get a bonus when I teach more than my contract indicates.”

He stuck his leftovers in the fridge at the left end of his desk.

She tried not to think how she was missing caf dinner for this. Mac n’ Cheese would have to do for that sparkling Friday night, along with her sad, five dollar box wine sitting in the back of her meager fridge.

“Which reminds me,” Professor Solo began, rolling up his grey-blue sleeves. His forearms were well toned for a man who almost exclusively ate take-out. “What graduate programs are you looking at?”

“Why would you like to know?” Rey raised an eyebrow. “And aren’t we supposed to be discussing _Macbeth_?”

“I think you earned your grade in class today,” he confessed, a bit sheepish. “You don’t have to defend yourself today. Plus you turned in the quiz this time, with a brief but clear summary.”

“I don’t want to lose my scholarship,” she answered, not wanting to look too into her sudden switch of tactics. “But why the talk of grad schools?”

“Has my mother started discussing them with you? Nailing down specifically what you’d want to study at a higher level?” he asked, genuinely curious.

“Uh—” Her face scrunched up. No instance came to mind. “Well, I’ve mentioned it to her. She supports the idea. But um…no?”

He bolted upright in his desk chair. “No?”

“No.” Rey pursed her lips, feeling a surge of embarrassment at the fact.

“You are a senior, in your second to last semester, in a major where you can have a terminal degree, and she hasn’t discussed a possible trajectory for you?” Solo sat up straight, reaching for the discarded legal pad in the stack of yellow legal pads to his right. He picked up a pen and clicked it open, writing her name at the top along with grad schools. “I know every undergrad hates this question, but what are your plans for the future?”

Rey scoffed, a chuckle bubbling out of her. “You aren’t my academic advisor or my mentor. Why the hell do you want to help me with this of all things?”

“Because I care,” he answered, not seeing the problem. As though he went out of his way to help students with different odds and ends in their academic life all the time. “And someone has to help you. Applying for grad school is a bitch and expensive. Best to have some sort of game plan.”

Rey found she couldn’t argue with that logic. She was walking into applying almost blindly, because she felt it was just the next step in her life.

He was just offering to help her navigate the maze.

No harm in that.

“Fine,” she sighed. “I suppose you can help.”

A small smile budged on his lips, yet he tapered it down to almost a twitch. “So what kind of career are you looking to go into? Statistical analysis, counseling, therapy, social work, public relations, marketing, academia, education—well really, a BA in Sociology is a stepping stone for anything.”

Rey blinked. “Um…I just like seeing how society functions. I loved the material and the course work.” She faltered, get a sudden feeling of unease. “Is it terrible to say I just never really thought this far out?”

She honestly hadn’t. Her goal was to get out of the system, get into a university in the States, and figure it out from there. Extend her student visa as much as possible until she could get a job and once again, figure it out from there.

Rey wasn’t a planner. Sure, she had instincts to ration and was frugal with her money, but in the big picture sense, she wasn’t necessarily a five-year-plan kind of woman.

Professor Solo clicked his pen closed. “No not all.” He pushed away the legal pad. “I was the same way.”

“Oh really, Mr. Three Degrees?” Rey waved to his accolades lining the wall.

Peeking behind him at his degrees and accomplishments, his compassion faded into a momentary sadness. “That right there is evidence that is didn’t know what to do, so I stuck with academia and eventually figured out what I like doing.”

“And what is that?”

His expression softened. “Teaching.”

A gurgle sounded in the room.

By reflex, Rey hugged her stomach. Of course her body would chose a sincere and nice moment to remind her it needed to be fed.

Luckily, Professor Solo wasn’t offended, a faint laugh escaping him. His eyes darted to the clock. “Want to get out of here?”

“Excuse me?” she squeaked.

Professor Solo’s eyes widened, catching the implication. “I mean—you seem hungry, I know being here is probably not ideal on a Friday afternoon. Would you like to go get something to eat while you think over the wonderful prospect that is ‘the future’?”

Part of her brain said, no. Why would she want to hang out with him? Like he said it was Friday. Not ideal to be stuck in an office talking about Shakespeare and her impending future with mac n’ cheese and box wine waiting for her.

“It’ll be my treat,” he supplied.

In that case…

“Sure.”

~*~

The downtown center was busy for a Friday afternoon, but not busy enough for Rey to catch a glimpse of any of her classmates. Most had probably stayed in or went to the next town over for their own weekend activities. There wasn’t much to do in Takodana except for a few eateries, fast food stops, little shops, and one movie theatre that played classic films on Saturday night.

Pretty dull to the average college student.

But Solo seemed to fit in with the speed of downtown, walking down the street with familiarity only a true local could possess. They were walking from campus to a hole in the wall pizzeria just off main street, _Maz’s_. Rey never heard of it, stunned when Professor Solo claimed it was a staple for Takodana.

Keeping to herself as they crossed the street, she finally surmised the courage to break the silence. “Why history? As your major in undergrad?”

“Mom wanted me to go into Socioeconomics or Politics. So I choose History to somewhat appease her, only to get an emphasis in theatre because I liked reading plays and learning about the people from the past. Seeing how theatre was good then evil, then good then evil, again and again. The rise and fall throughout history in a ridiculous pattern. It is laughable now, but plays were their only sources of entertainment and teaching and propaganda. Historical performance speaks a lot about politics, society, and the people of an era. I liked learning and thinking about that.”

“Wow,” Rey uttered, “that’s really deep. I never thought of it that way.”

“Yeah, I didn’t either when I declared it my major, but I kind of figured that bit out about halfway through,” Professor Solo answered, casual with his younger self’s stubbornness. “But I didn’t want to pursue history or politics, so I decided on Shakespeare because I liked Shakespeare and I didn’t want to start a career I didn’t like. My Uncle is a Shakespeare advisor and historian up in Oregon, so I got into a grad program there and continued my education while living with him.”

The idea of living with a relative always intrigued Rey, she never having such luxuries. “Oh, that sounds nice.”

“No, it was terrible,” he corrected without missing a beat. “My uncle and I don’t get along, but it is what it is.”

They reached the pizzeria, Professor Solo opening the door for her. She nodded in acknowledgement as she entered, her nose inhaling a wall of marinara sauce and pepperoni with just a foot past the door. “Wow, it smells heavenly in here,” she muttered, mouth salivating at the thought of a giant piece of pizza in her mouth.

“Maz makes the best pizza. Deep dish, New York Style, classic pizza—she can make it,” Solo explained, leading the way to the front counter. He hit the bell on the counter, a faint ‘ _give me a minute’_ coming from the back of the kitchen. Within moments a petite bespectacled woman popped out from behind the swinging door.

“Solo,” she quipped, nodding to him. Her eyes slated to Rey, intrigued though kept silent on the matter. “What can I get you today?”

He glanced over to Rey, questioning. “Whatever you want,” she insisted, “I never been here before and I am willing to eat anything.”

“Right,” he turned back to the woman, smiling for once. “We’ll have the pepperoni and mushroom deep dish, Maz. And two drinks.” She hummed ringing up the order, Solo handing his card over before Rey could offer to pay her half.

“Sit anywhere,” Maz waved to the array of empty tables. “I’ll bring it out when it’s done.”

Taking that as her cue, Rey led Solo to one of the booths lining the side of the pizzeria, he sliding into the bench opposite her. As though on reflex, he rolled up his sleeves to his forearms, his tweed jacket tossed to the further corner of the booth. The buttons on his shirt stressed, as though struggling to keep the man together in the ‘extremely well in shape and is probably ripped’ sort of way.

Fuck. She shouldn’t be letting her mind wander like that. Because he was still her professor and he is being annoyingly, stubborn-nice.

Averting her gaze away from his toned and built body, Rey examined the décor of the restaurant—mafia film posters. _Godfather,_ _Scarface_ , _Goodfellas_. Any mob or mafia movie that could come to mind was there. A practical shrine of Al Pacino consumed the corner closest to the register, filled with hearts and love notes.

“She really loves him, huh?”

Solo glanced back behind him, a small huff of laugher coming from the back of his throat. “Maz claims he was once her lover—her _greatest_ lover,” he explained. “She’s been telling me that since I was a kid and at this point I know better to argue.” He turned back to her, eyes squinting behind his glasses. “I’m sorry—what were we talking about before we ordered?”

“Your uncle and your Masters,” Rey reminded him. She was relieved he was, for once, focusing on himself rather than her. She didn’t need him to push and pry; no need to discover what made her tick.

“Right,” he thrummed his hands against the table top, collecting his thoughts, “my main point about that was you don’t need to have a Masters in anything necessarily in connection with your Bachelors. Hell, I know people who were music majors in undergrad and then went to law school.” Fiddling with his rolled back sleeves, he tugged on the loose thread, frowning down at the offending little piece. “You can do whatever you want just have reason, a great application, and the luck of the draw.”

“But yours was within the same family,” Rey argued, “they are all relatively historical and involve literature. I…” She faltered, mouth running dry. She hated to admit it, but better to admit it to someone who wouldn’t immediately judge her for her lack of direction, “…I don’t know what I want.”

She didn’t feel any freer with those words out in the air. In fact, an indifference settled in her chest, making itself at home, as if it had been there from the beginning.

“You’re exceptionally driven for someone who doesn’t know what they want.”

“You have to be in order to survive life.”

His snort was poorly refrained. “That’s a way to put it.”

Rey bristled. “But that’s the way it is—you have to be driven in life even if you don’t know where you are going.”

His eyes softened to the zucchini brown she loved to hate. “You do know you don’t have to go the grad school right? Most places even prefer you take a year, figure your shit out and then apply. Want you to get some real world experience.” Solo’s voice dropped, sounding more human—lost and hurt—than the all-knowing and well-advising professor. “You don’t want to jump into something like grad school and discover you hate it. Because then you’d hate yourself and your life, and some money will probably go down the drain too.”

“I’m not you,” Rey edged out, the heat of anger and guilt bubbling under her skin. “I’m not someone who does things out of spite—” That was the biggest fucking lie of the century, but he didn’t have to know that, “—I know what I need to do.”

His eyes flew wide, he leaning back against the booth like he’d been hit by a gutsy blow. “But you just said you don’t know what to do!”

Damn. He was right. “Don’t throw my words back at me!”

“ _Pizza_!”

Maz placed the deep dish pizza in front of them, along with plates and forks. The two muttered ‘thank you’s to the older woman, before digging into the food.

Both ate in silence, eyes drifting to the other every few seconds only to look away in haste when caught. Which happened more often than not.

Halfway through his second slice of pie, Solo spoke up. “I wasn’t trying to get you upset, I just want to understand why you feel like you need to go to grad school when you don’t know what you want. Are your parents pressuring you? Thinking only an advanced degree will get you a decent job? Because that’s far from true.”

Her face must have done something—cringed, winced, froze—at the mention of ‘parents’ because Solo immediately backtracked, stumbling over his words to make amends.

“Sorry I brought them up. I know everyone’s relationship with their parents is different—fuck, I am the poster child of _that_ —”

“I don’t have parents.”

“Oh, shit,” came his under the breath curse.

“I was in the foster system,” she continued, mentally preparing for the inevitable pity she’d receive. She dropped her pizza back on her plate, finding it difficult to eat when discussing her ‘sob story’. A story that wasn’t sob worthy, just a fact of life she lived with her entire life. “Aged out. Missed applying for university the first go around; it’s the reason why I am a little bit older than some of my peers. But got in here and have been working my arse off since. Because what option do I have.”

She gave a small shrug and picked up her pizza, taking a large bite.

“That…explains a lot.”

Rey’s chewing stopped, mouthful. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

His nose wrinkled, glasses slipping down the slope of his nose. “Your attitude, determination. The drive when you are directionless…” His eyes then hardened, latching on to her like a pesky leech. “But what doesn’t make sense is the fact someone like yourself went out of her way to _fail_ , putting all this hard work in jeopardy.”

“We’re back on this bullshit again?” she groaned, grabbing a wad of napkins from the dispenser at the end of the table.

“Yeah, because it is the _one thing_ that doesn’t make sense—”

“I thought we were going to talk about grad schools—”

“We are—but you need to know what you want and what you like before I can help you with anything,” Solo reasoned, “and maybe I need to see a little bit more effort in class.”

Rey gapped, a scoff emerging. The gall of this man—he was conning her into being a better student. Bribing her with academic advising and pizza. Clever, she could acknowledge that, but still a borderline con if she entertained the idea enough. “I participated in class today!”

“Yeah, one day out of what? _Twelve_?” He shook his head, amused and if not, a tinge disappointed. “You need to do more than that to pass. For all I know it could have been a fluke!”

“It wasn’t a fluke!”

“I’ll believe it when I see it.” He put the matter to bed, picking up another slice of piece—god, a giant like him could probably eat the entire pie on his own—and eating as though he hadn’t called her out on her bullshit. Again.

Pursing her lips, Rey followed his lead, grabbing another slice for herself.

She wanted to glare, but reminded herself to not bite the hand that fed her. Literally.

~*~

“Teaching?”

“No. I would have to get a teaching credential and find another emphasis.”

“High School Guidance Counselling?”

“Help students figure out their future or listen to them whine about their lives? Hell, no.”

“Do you like working in groups or by yourself?”

“I…prefer solo work,” she confessed begrudgingly, “or partner work. Anything with more than two people and I take over the project because people are terrible. Too many leaders not enough followers. And if you want a job done right, you have to do it yourself.”

“Noted; doesn’t play well with others.”

“Oi! Bugger off!”

Rey shoved him, Solo chuckling at the ill attempt. The barstool he sat on did not budge. Shaking his head, he sipped his Shirley Temple. She’d been surprised when they went to order drinks at the bar in _Maz’s_ he opted for a non-alcoholic beverage, a _Shirley Temple_ of all things.

But she didn’t judge—after all, she ordered the cheapest red wine on the menu.

Too dry. Made her gag. But she drank it like a champ.

And maybe ordered her own Shirley Temple afterwards to get the taste of her tongue.

_The Godfather_ played on the television screen above the bar, the two watching with half interest. Solo had been grilling her on personal and career interests, marking notes and scribbles on a napkin and a stray pen. He was oddly dedicated in a genuine, dorky sort of way. She found it endearing.

Slouched on her barstool, her eyebrows knitted together at the sight of a bloody horse head. _What the fuck?_

“I’ve…never actually seen this movie,” Rey confessed.

Solo whirled to her, eyes wide. “No!”

“Yeah,” she winced out, “I haven’t see a lot of classics.”

“We need to change that. _Now_.” His hands scrambled for the remote on the bar, rewinding the film back to the beginning. “ _The Godfather_ is like Shakespeare! Revenge, familial ties, bloodshed! It’s the mafia version of all the _Henry_ ’s! It is brilliant!”

A gleeful, boyish smile marred his features, the exhaustion he wore like a mask gone as he continued to ramble on about the parallels between _The Godfather_ and Shakespeare.

Rey just could not look away; smiling behind her own hand, like some giddy little school girl watching her crush from afar.

Except Solo was less than five feet away, talking to her like she mattered and did not want to be anywhere else. Even if the conversation was purely about _The Godfather_ and Shakespeare.

“Do have anywhere you need to be?” He asked, sudden and breaking the spell over her. “It’s getting late, and I’m sure you have plans…”

“No plans,” she confirmed, sitting up taller on the barstool. “But I’m sure you have a girlfriend or wife or whoever to get back to, so I understand—”

He snorted—she came to the quick conclusion she liked his snort despite the fierce blush on the tip of his ears at each instance. “Uh— _no_. No wife, girlfriend, or anything. Just a neighbor’s cat I need to check in on later tonight since they are out of town for a conference this weekend.”

“Oh, cool.”

“Yeah.” He ducked his head down, brushing back the hair flopping in his face. Solo peeked up at her in question, remote in his hand. “So… _The Godfather_?”

“Yeah,” she answered, the casualness of the evening replaced with an air of something _else_ entirely, “I’d love to watch mafia King Henry.”

Solo’s boyish grin returned. “You won’t regret it.”

Oh, how that would be debate for her heart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Is it my goal to mention every single play in Shakespeare's canon in this fic? Perhaps XD
> 
> Edit: If anyone read it before I changed it, I accidentally mixed up MacDuff and Banquo because I wrote that at the wee hours of the morning and I feel like a Shakespeare fraud for mixing them up XD


	4. Voice & Movement

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another chapter! YAY!
> 
> Note: Actions and Dialogue speak louder than anything else in this chapter :)
> 
> AND WE GET SOME SHAKESPEARE QUOTES IN THIS ONE.

Upon entering Dr. Leia Organa’s office the following Monday morning, Rey felt she had come back from an alternate univers0e and stepped into real life. Where she was still a diligent student, struggling to make ends meet, and working to the bone to impress her mentor.

Not a young woman spending time with a nerdy—handsome to a peculiar eye—man she was beginning to foster a fondness over. A young woman who laughed at jokes about Shakespeare and listened to ‘fun facts’ about _The Godfather_ like it was trailblazing religion. Or who allowed said nerdy—handsome—man walk her back to campus.

The weekend was rather solitude; her friends were off with their own lives of work, dates, and last minute homework, Rose and Finn social butterflies while Rey preferred to keep to herself on the weekends. Give herself a chance to breathe and rechange in her own space and time. Her single room on campus a solace from the world outside. One where she could dwell on the buzzing feeling she felt when she let her thoughts linger on Solo too long. When she let herself entertain the thought that perhaps they could be friends once he was no longer her professor.

Because he was brilliant, even if he didn’t always see it.

_“There are two more?”_

_“But the third one is not necessary viewing unless you want to experience the full trilogy effect,” Solo explained as they strolled back to campus. It was just half past ten, the streets quite, a small pulse of life from inside the local diners and movie theatre. Not quite the magic hour, but nearing something a kin. “But the second one is vital. So vital—maybe even better—than the first.”_

_“That’s a bold statement. Most sequels aren’t better.”_

_“That’s a lie we like to tell ourselves. The truth is sometimes the sequel is better than the original we love so much. But it is the fact we love the original that makes a good, well written sequel_ better _.” He paused, allowing her to ruminate the idea. But then he couldn’t help himself. “Take_ Henry IV, Part 2 _—”_

_“My god, do you have a Shakespeare reference for everything?”_

_“Of course,” came his answer, his shy grin making a brief appearance._

She would never admit how many times she thought of his boyish smile and zucchini brown eyes. Nor would she let herself think of him as more than a professor/mentor/friend—especially when she was in his mother’s office, dropping off the assignments she graded over the weekend.

“Here are the graded assignments,” Rey passed over the stack to Dr. Organa.

Her mentor took the assignments without looking up from her laptop and deposited them on the shelf behind her. Not a single glance spared, even with the sticky note slapped on top with the short responses Rey thought Dr. Organa would like a second look over. “I have another stack for you to go through on your desk. I also have the password and username written down for you to input grades just so we can make this faster.”

“Right,” Rey exhaled, standing up from her seat. She crossed over to her rarely used desk and put the new stack into her messenger bag. “I’ll get it done right away, Dr. Organa.”

“Great,” she muttered, giving Rey a wink of acknowledgement, “I know I can always count on you.”

“Of course.” Slinging her messenger bag over her shoulder, Rey began to head out the door, only to turn back around a second later. “Dr. Organa, if I can have a word?”

“Those were some right there,” Dr. Organa quipped, though paused her work. “But sure. What’s up kid?”

Taking the ‘yes’ in stride, Rey sat back down in the chair across from Dr. Organa, messenger back clutched to her lap, hoping her desperation wasn’t palpable. She attempted to remain cool and collected, though the words of one man spurred into her mind—

_“You are a terrible liar,” he told her plainly, “you look like a piece of you is dying inside when you lie and everyone within a five foot radius can see it.”_

“Yes, Rey?” Dr. Organa prompted when the silence lapsed a hair too long.

“Oh uh,” she shook her head, a stray hair flopping out of her messy bun, “I just wanted to know—I was wondering actually—uh—” Damn, why was this so hard? She found it easier to talk with Solo about grad schools than her own mentor. A mentor in her field and who she spoke with at least once a day. It should be easy, yet it felt the farthest from easy; more like cutting an avocado. “Do you have any thoughts on grad school?”

Dr. Organa’s eyebrows shot up. “I think it’s good option, especially if you want to go into academia or counselling. Both would be a good fit for you. I feel like you have the endurance for it. The hyper focus, no distractions. To be perfectly honest, that’s why I picked you as my TA. No boyfriends, no roommates.” Dr. Organa was disgusted at the thought of either, both a nuisance. “Not like my last TAs. I swear, it was like doing double duty in the past. But you have such a dedication to the department and major. I knew you’d be able to get shit done.”

Rey didn’t know if she was to be flattered or offended.

“Oh,” she tucked back a loose strand of hair behind her ear, “I thought maybe you saw potential.”

“Everyone has potential, Rey,” Dr. Organa shrugged, “but potential is subjective. I see potential in you, but I also see a girl who maybe is comfortable where she is at and wants to please.”

Stunned to the point Rey swore she heard ringing in her ears, she grappled for a way to respond. “Are you saying I’m a push-over?”

Her comment was ignored. “It’s not a bad thing. We need people like you in this world to make sure things get done. People who are willing to make personal sacrifices in order to make others lives better, even if it is just a small job, it makes a difference. People like you and me.” Dr. Organa’s eyes landed on the clock, sighing. “Come on. Let’s walk and talk. I have a meeting to get to.”

“Oh, uh, alright.”

Rey scrambled out of her chair, almost dropping her messenger bag. Dr. Organa marched out of the office with her laptop and leather satchel thrown over her shoulder, not bothering to check if Rey was following. Her heels clacked against the linoleum floor outside her office, loud enough to alert other’s of her coming and going. A warning she was leaving the office.

Despite being taller, Rey was about a half foot behind Dr. Organa. She followed the woman’s lead like some lost puppy, hoping to hear good news or solid advice.

“Like I said, grad school will be a good option for you,” Dr. Organa began as they turned down the narrow, backend staircase of the Social Sciences Building. With each word another step was gone, she walking with an up-tempo of her own creation. “You have the stamina for it. I support the decision.”

A bubble excitement surfaced through Rey—Dr. Organa was interested in helping. “Do you have any suggestions? Programs or—”

Dr. Organa reached the first floor landing, pushing open the door with her backside. “You compile a list of schools, write up a decent letter of rec for me for each.”

Rey’s feet halted a few steps behind, staring down at the woman.

Dr. Organa wasn’t suggesting what Rey thought she was suggesting, was she?

“I write my own letter of rec?” The words came out quieter than Rey intended, she almost sounding timid and meek, the stairway prepared to gobble her up in the space between them.

“ _Yes_.” Dr. Organa stared up at her, not seeing the problem, if not a tad bit exasperated. “Plenty of students and professors do this, Rey. Write up your own, I’ll look over it, make an adjustment or two, and then sign off. I’m sure any program you decide on will be lucky to have you.” She checked her watch again. “I really need to go. See you on Wednesday.”

The door gasped opened and slammed shut at her exit.

Rey remained on the second to last step.

Unmoving.

Messenger bag clung close to her abdomen. Eyes on the door.

That did not go as expected. At all.

~*~

“ _The Two Gentlemen of Verona_ ,” Professor Solo began, waving the slim script in his hand. One hand enveloped the _Signature_ copy, it a miracle the students could still see the title between his finger’s grip. “One of Shakespeare’s first plays—and it shows. The inconsistencies, the odd character choices made, and the fact we have an attempt assault at the climax of the play—one that is a _comedy_. That is just to name a few. But it does layout concepts we’d continue to see throughout the rest of Shakespeare’s canon. Does anyone have thoughts they’d like to share?”

No one spoke, most of students having a dead look in their eyes or avoided eye contact altogether.

Needless to say, more than half of Rey’s peers probably didn’t read the play.

There being six absent students also didn’t help, either.

The disdain on Solo’s face let them all know he knew. However instead of scolding them or falling into a rant, he kept his cool.

After all, it was a week before mid-terms swept through the entire campus.

“Alright then,” he breathed, shaking off his beige, drab bomber jacket. The navy blue button up was rolled up to his elbows, revealing his forearms in a similar fashion to a few nights previous at _Maz’s_. The action alone caused the class to relax, they all witnessing a crack in the well-crafted, hardarse professor persona. As though—dare they all think—Professor Solo was indeed a person outside of the classroom. “Then let’s read a passage—as a class.”

Poorly concealed pain rippled through the class as students pulled out their copies of the play.

Everyone turn to Act II, Scene VI, down to Proteus’ monologue.” He walked around their crude discussion circle, no doubt watching to see if everyone turned to the correct section and to plop himself down in an open space.

Rey followed his direction, keeping a slight eye on him. She hoped if she sank low enough in her seat, Solo would pass right by her.

He didn’t.

As though reading her mind, Solo sat on the edge of the desk beside hers.

“I can read, Professor,” Tallie called out.

He waved her away and pushed up his glasses higher. “It’s alright—I’ll read today since everyone looks like the walking dead today.”

Rey perked up at the announcement. Professor Solo never read in class. The task was often delegated to students, as most analysis had been on multiple character scenes.

Clearing his throat, he began to read the monologue—

“ _To leave my Julia, shall I be forsworn;  
To love fair Silvia, shall I be forsworn;”_

The words rolled off his tongue like a native language, smooth and clear. Not clunky like so many who attempted to read the Bard aloud. But with gentle conviction, as though each word was handwritten into memory, the words transcribed in the careful cursive he wrote on the board.

_  
“To wrong my friend, I shall be much forsworn;  
And ev'n that pow'r which gave me first my oath  
Provokes me to this threefold perjury.”_

Rey knew there was a rhythm to Shakespeare. Iambic Pentameter. Solo gave an extensive packet at the beginning of the semester on the subject, not quizzing them on the material but making a promise there would questions on the packet in the final.

(It would not be a surprise if no one read it.)

But she never realized the language possessed another rhythm when spoken aloud.

The rhythm of a heartbeat.

Frantic, looking for an answer—longing heartbeat.

But then it changed. Solo’s words came slower, digested and breathed in full; like reading them for the first time.

_  
“Love bade me swear, and Love bids me forswear.  
O sweet-suggesting Love, if thou hast sinned,  
Teach me, thy tempted subject, to excuse it.  
At first I did adore a twinkling star,  
But now I worship a celestial sun.”_

Solo stopped.

And stared at his script.

Stared for a decent amount of time.

Stunned—zucchini bread brown eyes wide and lips parted.

Everyone looked up from their copies, sharing confused looks.

Feeling an odd sense of pity in her confusion, Rey kicked the desk he sat on.

Solo jolted, neck snapping back up and he combusting into a coughing fit. Hitting his own chest, trying to dislodge whatever was trapped in his windpipe, he caught his breath and forced what Rey assumed was to be a reassuring smile.

It wasn’t.

More of a painful cringe than anything.

“We’ll stop right there—does anyone want to tell me what is happening? What is the conflict Proteus is trying to sort through in this monologue?”

Eyes darted to one another, the nine students playing a silent game of tag amongst each other. In a flash, a few eyes landed on Rey, volunteering her to be the sacrificial lamb.

Screw them and their lazy arses for not reading.

“Um—” Just as Rey was about to answer, Tallie’s hand shot up.

A tired sigh left Solo. He slumped, waving at Tallie to speak. “Yes, Miss Lintra?”

Prim and proper, her hand fell back to her side and folded neatly on her notebook. “The conflict Proteus is attempting to resolve is if he should turn his back on his love for his lover and best friend to pursue another.”

“Yes,” Solo nodded once towards her, giving her the acknowledgement she so needed, “that is the main conflict of the monologue. But is there something deeper going on? Remember this is just the first ten lines to forty-four line monologue. These lines open the can of worms and lay out the foundation of the journey Proteus will experience in these forty-four lines alone. So,” he sat back up, eyes locking on each student for a brief moment, “anything deeper?”

“He mentions vows,” Rey ventured before another silence could lapse. “And oaths. Because yeah, he was devoted to his lover and best friend, but he took personal vows. Not just with himself, but to them. Declared his love and brotherhood. It is not a light consideration, allowing himself to pursue this ‘love’” she threw up air quotations, knowing all too well Proteus’ love was to be taken with a grain of salt, “for a woman. A woman he hardly knows but has found himself enraptured with because he fell for her beauty and felt a slight connection.” She scoffed, eyes lingering on the monologue before her. “He’s foolish—willing to throw away everything—”

“It’s romantic, Rey,” Tallie shot out, apparently tired of listening to her. “Proteus is willing to give up friendship and his past life for her—”

“It’s not fucking romantic, Tallie,” Rey snapped, not caring if she offended the girl or cursed in class. “And you’d know that if you read the entire play!”

“I read the play—”

“Miss Johnson does have a point, Miss Lintra,” Solo interjected before the disagreement could become a full blown catty argument. “Proteus is not the best character to defend. He is essentially a stalker and attempts to have his way with his best friend’s love.” Solo shrugged, his disdain and lack of enthusiasm for the character seeping through for a moment. But he collected it all back in before he could elaborate any further. “If you can find a way to spin that into romance, I’d be all up to hear the argument in a paper, but as for our purposes today—no. It is not romantic and this is serious, Proteus breaking these _vows_.”

His voice broke.

He cleared his throat again. “But uh, wonderful insights you two—anyone else?”

Solo didn’t make eye contact with Rey for the rest of class.

A relief, honestly.

~*~

“You were right!”

“Fuck— _Jesus_ —do you knock?”

Rey ignored Solo’s outcry, plopping in the seat opposite his desk. Her messenger bag dropped to the ground with a loud _thump_.

It was then she realized he wasn’t at his desk.

Turning around, she found him making pour over coffee at the little counter behind the door. He looked ridiculous bent over the small cup and the electric kettle in his other hand, the two-foot long counter barely hitting below his hips.

“Oh—uh, sorry,” she stuttered out, “I didn’t realize you were right there. Did I hit you when I opened the door?”

“No,” he grunted. “But it was a close call.”

He set his electric kettle back down on its heating pad. His eyes then caught hers in question. “Do you want some?”

“Sure,” she agreed. She could never say no to free food and drink, an old habit from her foster days she could never kick. Accepting hospitality was the epitome of politeness. As a foster child, she always wanted the family to like her; her way of showing that was accepting whatever meal or beverage was placed in front of her.

“What was I right about?” Solo asked as he busied himself with another cup of coffee; getting the grounds, filter, mug and pouring the water once he finished his set up. “Because I’m pretty sure you are the last person who’d gladly proclaim I am right about anything.”

Rey tucked her legs up to her chest, hugging the back of her chair for balance. “About Dr. Organa.”

“Ah—I see.” He leaned back against the wall as he waited for their coffee to finish dripping. “What was the damage?”

“She just…” Rey shook her head, the events of Monday morning replaying in her mind. “She just doesn’t care. Or rather, have the time to care.”

“Sounds like her,” came his bitter reply. He picked up both their mugs, handing Rey hers before leaning back against the wall. He was sans jacket, sleeves still rolled up, and his glasses were tucked into his breast pocket. He took a small sip of his coffee, sighing at the contact. “If it makes you feel any better, she does that to her own family. So it’s not just a you thing.”

“It doesn’t make me feel better.” She held the mug close, not caring if it burned low and steady in her hand. “It makes me feel worse. So much worse.”

His brows crinkled together. “You…care too much.”

She rolled her eyes. Her brief stint with the Wellness Center’s free therapy let her know about her incredible need to help and be wanted and care too damn much was assessed within the first session. She didn’t come back for a second. “I know.”

“No, I mean it. You care so much about other people it’s ridiculous.”

“Thank you for that unsolicited analysis about my habits and personality,” Rey quipped, taking a sip of her coffee. “Just what I want to hear.”

Solo pushed himself off the wall and walked back to his desk, drinking his coffee on his short journey. Rey turned back around, sitting correctly in the chair once he sat down across from her.

“I wasn’t saying it to be mean, Rey. I said it because it’s the truth and someone should tell you.”

She cringed; the edges and plainness of his words reminded her far too much of Dr. Organa. “Does brutal honesty run in the family too?”

“Shockingly, no. Just bonehead stubbornness.” Solo chuckled at his own private joke. Yet at Rey’s unamused stare, he schooled himself. “But was it just some hard-hitting honesty or—”

“She told me to write my own letter of recommendation!” Rey slumped back in her chair. Huffing, she set down her coffee on the floor, out of the way of her flailing arms. “I have been her TA for almost two years and she tells me to write my own letter of rec—like—like I mean _nothing_! Like me grading for her and working my ass off for her is nothing!” She screwed her eyes shut, remembering who she was speaking to. “Sorry. Sorry. I know she’s your mother—”

“No,” Solo’s calm, low voice halted her impending ramble. “No. She made you upset; you can vent. Let me tell you, this is not the worst she has done so you are not offending me too much.”

Her relieved sigh formed into a frustrated groan. With less grace than a baby deer, she dropped her head and arms on the edge of the desk.

“I…”

A pang of stress tears welled in her eyes. She could not cry. She could not fucking cry in front of Solo.

No sir.

She would not.

“It just makes me wonder what the hell I have been doing the last couple of years.” Her lips rubbed against the cool, wood surface of the desk as she spoke. “I thought if I was great and Dr. Organa’s TA she’d help me figure out what I’m supposed to do. Figure out…fuck, _I don’t know…_ my purpose?” Another wave of tears begged for release. She squeezed her eyes shut. “But that’s stupid because she is just a busy woman who clearly does not care and—and I don’t know why I am telling you this, but I can’t tell my friends because they’d tell me I’m overreacting—but maybe this entire time I have been _underreacting_ to the emptiness and lack of life I have in my life!”

This time she could not fight it off.

The tears came.

They came _hard_.

Face against the desk, Rey released a heavy, full chest sob. She sniffled and hiccupped, all muffled in the little huddle she tried to curl into, her arms over her head.

Just as she heaved into a ragged breath, a warm hand rested on her shoulder.

“It’s…it’s okay,” Solo muttered, sounding lightyears away. “You can cry for as long as you need to.” He patted her shoulder; hand heavy and tense. “Hell, you can stay the rest of the afternoon if you want. I have my night class at seven and it goes until ten, but you can hang out here if you need somewhere to be that is private to just decompress.” When she didn’t answer right away, his mouth continued to blab. “I have plenty of coffee and I think a jumbo bag of _Peanut M &M’s_ somewhere…”

God, why did he have to be so fucking nice?

Here she was, bawling her eyes out, and he was offering her solitude, coffee, and candy. Solo was a walking dream, damn it, and people were just too ignorant to see it.

While his offer of solitude and coffee sounded tempting, Rey wasn’t too sure she could handle being on her own. Lord knows she spent almost all her life alone and so much of her free time alone, being around people—even if she didn’t talk to them or interact in anyway—just sounded better than sitting in her single dorm.

Peeking her head up from her folded arms, Rey found Solo’s zucchini bread brown eyes looking back at her. Patient and understanding. His warm hand remained on her shoulder, an anchor to the world, keeping her from drifting away into her own detrimental thoughts.

“What do you teach as a night class?”

~*~

“And everyone reach to the sky!”

The circle of a dozen students followed Solo’s lead, Rey thrown into the mix as well.

“And now reach your toes!” The group bent down at their waists, arms hanging down like monkeys. “And slowly bring yourself back up…” One by one, each student came to their full height at their own pace, Solo the last to finish. “Alright, that is it for tonight. Remember next week everyone will be performing their selected non-fiction piece as a monologue. I also want to have the research packets for your performance turned in!.”

The group had already broken off before Solo finished his announcements, the late hour causing the students to leave as soon as possible.

Rey came up to Solo as he packed up his belongings, she the last one sticking around. He slung his satchel over his shoulder, meeting her halfway.

“That was…” Rey began, opening and closing her mouth, “…an interesting class,” she settled on. “What is it called again?”

“Voice and Movement for the Actor,” he answer, ducking his head in a tinge of bashfulness. “Well, a version of it. Counts as an Arts credit for those who have little desire to pursue the arts but need it to graduate. Hence, once a week night class.”

She grinned up at him, for once feeling silly and lighthearted since Friday. “You weren’t joking when you said other departments like to pull you in for a class or two.”

“Nope,” he chuckled, beginning to lead the way out of the empty classroom, “I wasn’t joking. The plus side is this will go towards my Shakespeare Festival Roadtrip next summer.”

“You’re _what_?” Rey uttered, leaning against the wall as Ben locked up the classroom.

“My Shakespeare Festival Roadtrip,” he repeated, tucking his keys back into his satchel. Together they began walking towards the dorms and parking lots over by the east end of campus. “I am planning to make a cross country roadtrip to all the Shakespeare theatres across the country and watch a Shakespeare play at each. The goal is to complete the canon, because if I did my calculations right, each play of Shakespeare’s canon will be performed at least once at one of the locations this upcoming summer.”

“And you’re going to just go and travel for the summer? In a car? Driving across the States?”

“Yeah,” he said, pleased with himself. “I’ve done it before—not the Shakespeare thing, but the roadtrip thing.” Off in the distance, sprinklers began to go off, watering the quad in a gradual round-off as they passed by. “My dad is a roadtrip guy. Or rather a road guy,” he added as an afterthought. “His idea of bonding was roadtrips and traveling. Where we are trapped in a car for hours on end and have nothing else to do but listen to old Billy Joel and Simon & Garfunkel tapes. Or worse—talk to each other.”

“That sounds nice,” Rey confessed in earnest, “I’ve never had a roadtrip experience or a dad—”

“Well, my dad wasn’t much of dad but a glorified summer guardian, so there’s that.” Replying his words, he shook his head, clutching the strap of his satchel tighter. “Shit—sorry. I didn’t mean…” he clucked his tongue, “forget I said that last bit.”

“No, don’t apologize. Shitty parents can be shitty if they are there or not. Trauma is trauma,” she reasoned, reiterating a botched phrase or two she read from a self-help book some odd three years prior. Tension eased off him seconds later, the comfortability they found with each other returning moments later. “But that’s really cool. A roadtrip to just watch Shakespeare everywhere you can. You must really love his works.”

“I do.”

“Do you love anything else with that much passion?”

He paused.

Then—

“No. And at this point I don’t think I ever will.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Two Gentlemen of Verona is...a play. Not one of Shakespeare's best. Possibly one of his worst depending on who you ask, but it is still vital to understanding his work *shrug* 
> 
> Another note: I will forever have Rey in this fic refer to Ben's eyes as 'Zucchini Bread Brown'. Once you write something like that in a fic, it stays in the fic forever!


	5. Midterms & McDonald's

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So there is a dash of minor angst in this chapter. Nothing too bad, but important stuff.

Midterms came and crushed everyone in its path.

Including Rey and her friends.

“I think I might scream if I have to write another paper on perspective and feminism in classic literature,” Rose groaned, flopping on to her living room floor.

Books, study guides, and notes were scattered all over coffee table and couches, Rose taking over the entire space as she finished up essays and prepped for two in-class essays she’d have the following day. In a similar manner, moaned and groaned in the sea of his work, though his spillage of notes were across the kitchen table.

Rey, however, remained curled in the cat’s arm chair in the corner of the room. Porgy, Rose and Paige’s fluffy calico kitten, had run off to one of the bedrooms when Rey and Finn arrived. The kitten wasn’t the biggest fan of Rey, hissing and swatting at her like she was a feral intruder, rather than Rose’s friend, whenever she came over to the Tico Sister’s apartment. A part of Rey was offended by the little hissing and awkward-uncoordinated swatting from the creature, she didn’t take it to heart. Kittens were weirdly territorial at the strangest things; she had a foster mother who owned three cats and all had the nasty habit of peeing on her clothes and bed when she was out of the house. Perhaps that incident was why she preferred dogs.

“Watcha working on, Peanut?” Finn called out, addressing her for the first time since they fell into their own studying routines. “I thought you’d be working on some paper and data. But you’re…,” his eyebrows jumped upon closer inspection, “…reading Shakespeare?”

Rey hunched closer in on herself. Clumsily, her copy of _The Taming of the Shrew_ was pushed into the space between her stomach and thighs, she hugging her legs closer to her chest. “Uh, no. I’m not reading Shakespeare.”

Finn stood up, the chair almost falling back by his force. “Yes—yes you were. I know that copy of _The Taming of the Shrew_ anywhere! Solo always makes it his midterm! I had nightmares for days after about that stupid play!”

Rey reeled back an instinctive flinch. She was more than halfway through her second reading of the play for class and she found it incredibly entertaining. More than ‘a little offended’ did not begin to describe how she felt when Finn associated the word ‘stupid’ with the play. Honestly it spoke volumes on the culture and humor of the time, one of the oldest farces known to man. “I’m reading for leisure!”

“In the middle of _midterms_?” Finn shook his head is disbelief. “That’s a load of shit and you know it.”

“I can read Shakespeare for leisure!”

“I have never met anyone who reads Shakespeare for leisure,” Rose chimed in. From her spot on the floor, she struggled to get up. Giving up halfway through her efforts, she just leaned back against the couch armrest. “Please don’t tell me you actually signed up for that class.”

When Rey didn’t respond, Rose groaned and flopped back to the floor. Paper scattered a little at the motion, air swooping through in her pathetic collapse.

“I thought you were joking, Rey! I didn’t think you’d actually sign up for the class!”

“I don’t joke about school, Rose!” Rey didn’t—she took her classes and coursework seriously—except for the little rebellious hiccup with Shakespeare, but everyone had their moments of judgment and misjudgment, right? “When I suggested the idea, you laughed in my face and mocked me! But I was serious!”

Rose pushed herself back up, hair in a disarray. An orange sticky note stuck to her forehead, the phrase ‘ _just read the Sparknotes on this book_ ’ jotted down in blue ink.

“It’s like you want to be difficult and punish yourself with that class!”

“Sign up for what class?” Finn blurted out, eyes ping-ponging back and forth between the two women. Neither answered him, too stubborn and locked up in their flourishing argument to pay any mind to Finn.

A scoffed found it’s way out of Rey; this was un-fucking-believable. “Punish myself? You think that class is a form masochism? It’s not!”

Apparently feeling too short in the conversation, Rose climbed to her feet, her oversized sweater getting caught on her knee in her effort. She stumbled, but caught herself on the edge of the couch. “No it is, because only you would sign up for a class all your friends hated because you can be masochist! You like doing the difficult things because what—you get some personal gratification from it?”

“I don’t get personal gratification from shitty situations!” Rey stood up, slamming her copy of the play closed. “Maybe you are the person who gets off on shitty situations! Because I love that class! It might be one of the best classes I have ever been in!”

“You are insane if you think that!” Rose huffed, crossing her arms over her chest. “Solo is terrible. The biggest asshole—always pushing and pushing for the answer he wants!”

“Maybe because he can see the potential in his students!” Rey flared at the mention of Solo, defensive at the mere mention of him. “He doesn’t want basic answers he can find on,” she ripped off the sticky note stuck to Rose’s forehead, “ _Sparknotes_!” She waved the sticky note in front of Rose. “He doesn’t want this drivel! He wants real thoughts that came from your own fucking mind!”

“Why the hell are you defending him?” Rose shot back, brows furrowed. “He’s a professor with his own philosophy and agenda about his material—just like all of them here. I don’t think he really cares if we just try to make the grade. Especially when he makes the class so difficult.”

“You’re wrong,” Rey uttered, stunned her friend didn’t see beyond her own reasoning. “He cares. He cares so much—”

“And how do you know that?” Rose shot back, stubborn and fed up with the conversation.

“Because…” Rey trailed off.

There wasn’t a policy against students and professors being friends. There wasn’t—she checked. Hell, a professor and student could be in a relationship if there wasn’t a academic conflict, such as the student on the professor’s roster. Not that she would ever admit to knowing such facts she found in a little corner of the university’s website. Maybe in a moment of weakness she did some deep diving research on the thought.

But only to quell her curiosity.

Nothing else.

Not that she and…

No, nothing else.

“Because…he and I…talk.”

Finn and Rose blinked at her, jaws unhinged and confused.

“You…talk to Solo?” Finn stepped forward, pressing the back of his hand to her forehead. “You don’t have a fever, but you sure do sound like you might have one.”

Rey swatted him away. “What is so wrong with just talking with him? He is my professor, he and I have some… _things_ ,” she waved in the air at the word, as though she could conjure up the ‘things,’, “…in common.”

“Oh yeah? You have things in common with a thirty-something year old hardass professor?” Rose challenged.

“Plenty of things!”

“Like what?”

“I’m not going to tell you.” Rey’s hands clenched at her sides, finding the room closing in on her with questions Rose piled up. “It’s private. And I respect Solo to not blab about his personal life.”

“I highly doubt Solo has a personal life,” Finn said with a chuckle. “Have you seen that guy? His nose is always in a book, he’s always on campus, and I swear he must be a vampire. That dude always looks exhausted and pale—”

“Maybe he has a condition,” Rey reasoned, the thought crossing her mind more than once while she’s been in Solo’s company. “So people are insomniac or have health deficiencies. You don’t know.” She had her own slew of problems; everyone did. Solo would be no different.

“My point is he is a jerk who wants to ruin his students lives,” Finn told her point blank. “And he has no social life if anything he ever says in class and the number of reminder emails he sends is anything to go by.”

“Not to mention the obsession with Shakespeare,” Rose added. “And now he is holding you hostage with his obsession for it,” she joked, Finn laughing along.

Rey’s heart constricted. She couldn’t take it anymore.

She tossed her play in her messenger bag and grabbed her phone off the coffee table.

“Rey, what are you—”

“I need to get going,” she announced as she beelined to the front door. She sloppily shoved her feet into her lace up, blue sneakers, not bothering to put them on properly.

“Come on, we were joking—”

She whirled on them, hugging her messenger bag tight against her chest. “Haven’t you ever thought that maybe he just wants to see some passion in his students? A willingness to think outside their own self-centered box and talk about these plays with basic human understanding? And that maybe he just wants a fucking friend at this university? Someone who gets him? Even for just the slightest moment?”

Neither Rose or Finn spoke, surprised by the pressed questions.

Rey sighed and opened the door. “I’ll see you when I see you.”

She let the door slam after her, and left the building.

**~*~**

Rey only made it less than halfway back to her dorm when it began to rain.

A light drizzle, then—

Thunder crackled in the gray sky above and less than a minute later, the droplets came down with vicious ferocity.

Her shoes were still shoved on to her feet, not properly laced up and were beginning to get soppy. A chilling _squelch_ slapped against the pavement as she continued her slow but steady trek.

Screw her on having a semi-dramatic exit.

As the rain pelted harder, a dash of hail somewhere in the chaos, Rey realized she had two options:

  * Take refuge in one of the downtown shops that happened to be open on a Sunday afternoon; which was slim to none.



Or—

  * Continue walking, but stop at every other awning to catch her breath and ring out her belongings, while contemplating her life choices and raising the odds in her favor of getting hypothermia.



Naturally, Rey scurried into the first shop she could find.

A record and bookshop. _Kenobi’s Records and Books_.

One trapped in a time capsule of the late twentieth century. Rows upon rows lined the center of the shop, crates full of records and used books. By the front of the register sat a sign—‘ _Please set backpack/purse at counter with cashier. You are being watched.’_

Cool; not ominous at all. But Rey did as indicated despite the lack of cashier at the register, just removing her wallet from her messenger bag and tucking the worn tan leather in the inner pocket of her damp, green cargo jacket.

Soft, instrumental rock music played through the speakers, the patter of rain muffled in the store. The heater was on full blast. Feeling slowly came back into her toes as she stepped further into the shop. Rey found herself bypassing the records (she had no use for the vinyl, not possessing a record player herself) traveling over to the used books, picking up a battered copy of _Nancy Drew_. Upon further inspection, the entire plastic crate had a plethora of pocket-size, paper-back editions of the series. While she was never devoted to the series like some girls, she read her fair share of mysteries.

She dropped the book back into the crate before moving on to the next one, finding a selection of early-2000 Young Adult novels. _Twilight, Hunger Games, Divergent_ , were all thrown haphazardly into the crate. Digging around, Rey absentmindedly fixed the mess. Working a retail job in her teens, she knew customers had a habit to ruin careful displays or toss around product in effort to find their desired item.

However her efforts halted when she picked a copy of _Harry Potter & the Philosopher’s Stone_. She never read the series, missing the wave of the _Potter_ hysteria when she was younger. The hype of it all concerned her, Rey choosing to avoid the series, getting flack whenever someone pointed out she was British and needed to adore the series like it was some sort of right of passage in her heritage.

Rey found the thought ridiculous.

“I got it, I got it!” A voice called out from behind the curtain by the register, a vague accent to his words. Speckled blondish-red and white hair caught her attention, the older man ambling to his post behind the counter. “Hello, do you need any help?” he asked, helpful but if not a tad grumpy.

“Uh, no,” Rey answered, still holding the book. “Just looking around.” She gestured to the window. “A little refuge from the downpour.”

The man frowned, stern and not looking for any funny business. “I don’t allow loitering.”

“Uncle Kenobi!” A far too familiar baritone cried out. Dark hair popped out from behind the backroom curtain, Rey tensing at the sight. His head then whipped to her, eyes widening. “Rey? What are you doing here?”

“ _Solo_?” she squeaked out. The book dropped from her hand, landing back into the sea of YA novels. “What are you doing here?”

He stepped out further, Rey blinking at the full force of his appearance.

For once he wasn’t dressed in goddamn tweed or khakis or jumpers.

Jeans and a checkered flannel adorned his frame, looking the opposite of nerdish professor to borderline lumberjack. With just a change of clothes.

_How_ _the hell_?

Her brain stuttered, she suddenly aware of her wet-rat status. Hair drenched, clothes stuck awkwardly to her body and dripping, and shoes shoved on like slippers.

She looked unbelievably pathetic.

Why the hell did she always have to look so unbelievably, unalterably _pathetic_ in front of Solo? Did the universe fucking hate her? Because if it did, then life would make a whole lot more fucking sense.

“I help my Great-Uncle Kenobi on the weekends—do you need to use the restroom to clean up?” He was already coming up to her with a cleaning rag he snatched from the counter.

“Restroom is not open to the public,” the older man, Kenobi, warned. “You know that.”

“She’s not the public,” Solo argued, handing Rey the rag.

She stared at it, unsure of what to do; if she should use the rag to attempt to dry herself or clean up the puddle she was making on the floor. Rey decided on the floor, dropping the rag on the floor and mopping up her mess by dragging the cloth across the floor.

“She’s a…” Solo hesitated, mouth opening yet no sound came out. Then he said—“A friend. She’s a friend Uncle, and clearly needs help.”

On that note, he gently led her towards the backroom. The heat of his hand on her shoulder warmed her, she feeling the gentle pressure of his fingers lingering near the base of her neck. Subtle and modest, yet she could feel a sudden longing brewing in the depths of her gut.

God who was she? Getting a thrill of just the touch of hand on a shoulder of all things. Lamenting about how his hand felt on her shoulder—maybe she was reading too much Shakespeare. That had to be it.

Storage lined to walls, along with a card table towards the backend with a series of assignments stacked on top and a red pen left forgotten. Opposite the card table was the restroom door, Solo opening it for her

“Thanks,” Rey muttered as she stepped into compact, single restroom, losing Solo’s warmth. “I think I can take it from here.”

“Right,” he stepped away, heading back to the card table where he had been grading, “holler if you need anything.”

“Will do.” Once the door was shut, she launched into cleaning herself up. Shaking off her jacket and wringing it out; grabbing wads of paper towels and squelching her hair until all the water she could get out was out. Her denim jeans were already drying off, somehow receiving the least torture in her watery trek. The rest of her however…

Well to put plainly, she looked like a sad, damp, feral cat. Rey couldn’t look away from her trainwreck appearance in the mirror, a disaster staring back at her. Drying her hair didn’t do much, the locks a limp brown mess, but one she pulled into a ponytail. Her socks were goners, but at least her shoes weren’t completely drenched, just a little squeaky when she walked, if anything. Her shirt wasn’t terrible either, just damp on the shoulders and sleeves. For once Rey was glad she didn’t wear make-up because she was positive she’d look ten-times worse with smeared mascara and foundation.

So she was okay, she supposed. As okay as she could be all circumstances considering.

A knock came on the door. “Hey, I have an extra sweatshirt if you want it.”

Rey opened the door to find an outdated forest green, Chandrila University sweater held out to her. The logo was faded from several washings, the sweater looked undeniably comfortable. Grateful she took the sweater and shrugged it over her head.

“Thank you so much—I’m freezing,” she confessed.

“I always keep some of my old sweaters here since it can get cold in the shop,” Solo gave as explanation. He set out to sit back down at the card table, offering the other chair beside him to her.

Rey took the seat, sweeping her eyes over the papers. Not Shakespeare. An Intro to Literature class for freshmen, but he was reading through each and every one of the papers like it was for one of his upper classmen courses.

“I didn’t know you have a second job,” she teased, eyes roving around the backroom. A couch sat by the kitchenette on the furthest end of the long and narrow room. Records lined the closest bookshelf, a record player on an end table to the right of the couch. A cozy space for just two employees, but then again when one owned their own business she supposed it became a second home.

“I don’t,” Solo corrected, picking back up his red pen and grading. “I just hang out here sometimes on the weekend, keep him,” he waved lazily over to the door, where Kenobi was out in the shop, “company.”

“I thought you didn’t like your Uncle?” she recalled the mention of Uncle from a prior conversation, the visible disdain Solo had for the man almost cringe worthy. “Why would you help him?”

“Different uncle,” Solo licking the pads of his fingers and flipped to the next page, not looking back up at her. “Kenobi is technically not my uncle. He was my grandfather’s best friend and remained a close family friend. I just call him Uncle because it is easier.” He rolled his eyes. “I’m named after him, so naturally I am his favorite from my family.”

“Naturally,” Rey quipped. She shifted in the rickety seat, hugging the sweater closer. Hints of redwood and maple lingered in the fabric, Rey subtly inhaling the scent and committing it to memory. Everything about him—his eyes, his scent—reminded her of warmth and a mirage of what could be home.

A niggle in her mind told her to not get attached.

But who was she to listen?

“I just figured since you spent your entire week at the university, you’d want to be far away from it. Or at least spend time at home. Not in a shop three blocks from your office.”

Her comment was met with a grunt and little else.

“What I want to know is why you were walking around town in the middle of a storm?” Solo swiftly changed the subject from himself to her with the ease of a well-practiced deflector. Yet his gaze stayed locked on his work, glasses drooping down his nose as his head bent lower to read the typed font. “I like to occasionally believe you can be a smart young woman, Rey.” She flushed at the compliment, knowing there was a great big contrary about to follow. “But I sometimes wonder if I have made an incredible misjudgment on your level of common sense, all things considering.”

“I…” She slumped in her seat. “I got into an argument with my friends and I sort of left in hurry and then it rained.”

“Ah.”

She blinked at him, disappointed by his response. “That’s all you have to say?”

“Yup.” He popped the ‘p,’ and picked up another assignment. “I am not entirely surprised by your choices, if that is what you are getting at.”

Rey wasn’t sure what she was expecting from Solo. In the past when she ranted or in some cases, cried, he didn’t comfort her. He was understanding, yes, but he didn’t comfort her with words. Despite loving the Shakespearean language, words of affirmation was not Ben Solo’s love language on the giving nor the receiving.

Yet just because it wasn’t his love language, that didn’t mean Rey wouldn’t vent or probe. “You are not going to ask me what the argument was about?”

“Nope.”

“Why?”

Solo sighed. “Because I know if you really want to talk about it, you’ll talk about. If I have learned anything about you this last month it is you will talk when you are ready to talk whether I like it or not.”

“What if I am ready to talk about it right now?”

Solo stopped his grading, zucchini bread eyes looking up at her, waiting and exasperated. “Are you ready to talk about it?”

“… _no_ ,” she admitted sheepishly.

His picked up his pen without missing a beat. “I rest my case.”

She hated it when he was right, the obnoxious arse. “Can I stay here until the rain lets up?”

“Of course,” Solo answered without missing a beat. “I’ll even drive you back to the dorms if you want to wait until then. But I should warn you, Kenobi will put you to work if he so desires.”

Rey beamed, feeling at ease for the first time all day. “I think I can handle that.”

**~*~**

“We don’t have to stop somewhere to eat,” Rey insisted. The rain had not let up all afternoon, Rey taking Solo up on his offer of a ride back to the dorms. But that did not come with it’s own detour when he heard her stomach growl.

“It’s not like I’m getting you gourmet—it’s _McDonald’s_ ,” Solo argued, already rolling up to the voice box. “What do you want?”

“You honestly, don’t—”

“If you don’t tell me what you want right now, I will just order everything off the menu for you and then what are you going to do then?” he shot back, deadpanned.

“I’ll have a 20-pieces chicken nugget and a chocolate milkshake,” she told him quickly, knowing he wouldn’t back down from his threat if she didn’t.

He reiterated her order, adding his own—large fries, a Big Mac hold the pickles and mayo, and an ice tea. Once their total was announced, he drove forward to the window, waiting to pay.

Rey reached for her wallet, but Solo waved it away. “I told you it’s _McDonald’s_ , so please put it away,” he muttered, a tinge annoyed. “Believe it or not, my mother did teach me how to be a gentleman.”

In all honesty, Rey believed Dr. Organa taught her son to be gentleman despite all implied present bad blood between them. She could imagine a younger Leia Organa teaching a pre-pubescent Solo, with moppy dark hair and big doe eyes, how to be polite and respect women with every ounce of his being, or face her wrath. She could easily picture Dr. Organa running her house with a tight leash, that wasn’t too much a stretch.

“Oh, I believe it,” she teased, “you don’t need to defend you gentlemanliness to me. ”

He apparently didn’t believe her, rolling his eyes. He passed his card over when the payment window opened—

Only to be greeted by a student from Shakespeare class; _Jacen_. One of the English majors who never spoke in class. Avoided talking like a plague, but spoke when he had a pressing question.

Solo froze. Stock still, unblinking as he faced bright eyed Jacen Catello. Possibly the last person he expected to be at the window when he pulled up to the local campus _McDonald’s_.

“Oh, hey Professor Solo,” he greeted, nodding to him.

“He- _y_ ,” Solo croaked out, elongating the word more syllables than necessary. Yet he remained unmoving and card stretched out. “How—how are you Jacen?” Solo stuttered out.

Realizing she was still sitting out in the open— _in her fucking professor’s car, damn it_ —Rey threw up the hood of her borrowed sweater and snatched the sunglasses sitting in the open compartment by the cupholders. She then sunk low in the passenger seat, as low as the seatbelt would allow her. A terrible disguise, but the only options available at the moment.

“Doin’ alright,” Jace said, taking the offered card and ringing up the order. “Doin’ the daily hustle, studying for the exam on Wednesday during my breaks.” He handed it back to Solo, then leaned out the window, making himself comfortable for conversation. “Your order will be ready at this window, the fountain machine at the next window is on the fritz right now.”

Rey stomach swopped low.

“Oh, okay,” Solo uttered, attempting to sound ‘cool’ and ‘casual,’ only failing spectacularly. His hands clenched and unclenched at the wheel, forcing a smile. “Guess, I’ll just wait here.”

“I gotta ask Professor Solo,” Jacen continued, not recognizing Solo’s obvious uncomfortable and non-chatty demeanor, “why _The Taming of the Shrew_?”

“Why not _The Taming of the Shrew_?” Solo countered. “It’s great play. Hell, _10 Things I Hate About You_ is a classic.”

“But isn’t it anti-feminist?” The phrase was awkward in his mouth, as though he thought it were illegal to speak on feminism in anyway because he was of the opposite gender.

“No!” Rey yelped, aghast. “It’s the contrary!”

Jacen jumped at her outcry, squinting at her dark corner of the car. He frowned.

Solo’s jaw tightened, his eyes slanting to her, pleading her—or maybe it was more threatening her—to be quiet.

Jacen leaned closer, hanging to side of the window. “Hey, is that—”

“My cousin Kira!” Solo blurted out, shifting to block Rey from Jacen’s view. “Kira…Kenobi. Like from _Kenobi Records and Books_?”

Jacen blinked, but nodded. “Yeah…”

“Yeah,” Solo shrugged, “she just came in from…Portland.”

“Oh…Maine or Oregon? Because I have family up in Maine—”

“Oregon,” Solo was quick to supply, a huffy-panic of laughter bubbling out of him. “Portland, Oregon. Just here for a weekend visit. Isn’t that right, Kira?”

Rey wanted to slam her head against the dashboard. For being a genius and brilliant man, Solo was a fucking moron.

Clearing her throat, Rey dropped her register, attempting to channel her inner Kaydel Ko Connix. The Social Science’s Department secretary possessed the epitome of the West Coast accent. “Um…ye- _ah_ ,” she drawled out. “Just the week- _end._ Bummer, right?”

“Such a bummer,” Solo agreed, sharing a small glance with her.

Jacen continued to squint to the corner of the passenger side for a little longer, before shrugging. “Yeah, but that’s cool you got to hang out. Didn’t know you had much family, dude.”

Solo winced at the term ‘dude,’ but didn’t comment. “We’re all scattered. It happens.”

Hearing something over his headset, Jacen turned to the counter behind them and began handing over their order. “Here are your drinks and food.” Once all the bags were handed over, along with straws, Jacen waved his goodbye. “See you later, Solo! And nice meeting you, Kira!”

Solo drove off, the two silent as he drove back towards campus.

But Rey couldn’t handle it, pulling off the sunglasses. “That was…”

“Terrible,” he finished. “I didn’t think—”

“Yeah, clearly!” she cried out. Reaching her hand in, she snatched a couple of his fries. “And really? _Kira Kenobi_?”

“Stop eating my fries!” He half heartedly swatted at her hand, but immediately returned it to the wheel. “If you wanted fries, you should have ordered fries!”

In spite, she ate more of his fries, chewing loudly and moaning happily. “Too bad, so sad! I’m holding the bag!”

He shook his head, a small smile budging on the corner of his lips. “I didn’t expect him there. I just said the first thing that came to mind.”

Rey hummed, unable to be too mad at his poor improvisational skills. “I know.” Sobering up, she picked up her milkshake, stabbing the straw into it. “You do know there is nothing wrong with us being…friends?” she settled on. “There is nothing against that.”

Solo’s eyes darted to her then the road, hands gripping the wheel tight for a fraction of a second. Then he relaxed, leaning back against his seat. “I know. I just…don’t want anyone thinking otherwise.” A quietness settled over them, both ruminating on what that ‘otherwise’ happened to be. Students and possibly faculty thinking a relationship beyond simple friendship occurring between the two. While Rey often entertained the idea of relationship beyond friendship with Solo, she knew she’d would not let herself cross that boundary. She’d be an embarrassment if she did; after all, he was older, wiser, and probably didn’t think of her in such a…romantic or…sexualized way. She was just a student and friend; she’d needed to keep it her mantra. “I don’t want that for you,” he continued, “rumors or lies. They can hurt, and you don’t deserve that pain.”

She stared at him, unable to look away from his shadowed profile. The softness of his tone startled her; perhaps his compassion ran deeper than she forced herself to think. He didn’t simply see the potential in her as a student and as a person, Solo also _cared_.

Genuinely cared about her wellbeing.

Not many people cared about her like that.

“Oh,” she breathed, “thank you.”

Solo pulled up to one of the empty parking lots on campus, leading up to the dorms. “You can to eat with me or go back to your dorm—”

“I’ll eat with you,” she decided, cutting him off. “Being here with you sounds nicer than going back to my empty dorm,” she confessed, hoping she didn’t sound as pathetic as she felt.

“Ditto.” He clinked their drinks together. “To not being lonely people and eating McDonald’s alone,” he toasted, chuckling. “So now what is this I hear about this controversial take on _The Taming of the Shrew_?”

Rey snorted into her milkshake.

Of course, he always has a way of bringing it back to Shakespeare.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soooo....they almost got caught. But they didn't…and they are just friends and Ben cares about Rey. 
> 
> Well...lets see how long that last, lol
> 
> Also, some of you are probably wondering when Rey will start calling Ben 'Ben' and not 'Solo'...WE ARE GETTING THERE. I PROMISE.
> 
> And I was craving fries when I wrote the latter portion of this, sorry not sorry.


	6. Juliet Balconies

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now that Anon is off....Yes it is I-- INTPSlytherin! How many of you thought it was me? Be honest. Was it the abuse of the emdash or the Shakespeare bits that gave it away? XD Also I am sorry this is coming later than I intended, this chapter was more difficult to write than I expected!
> 
> Warning: Brief mention of blood
> 
> Anyways...
> 
> Typos will be fixed later! Enjoy :)
> 
> (AND I APOLOGIZE IN ADVANCE OF ALL THE SECONDHAND EMBARRASSMENT YOU WILL ALL EXPERIENCE IN THIS CHAPTER. LIKE IT GETS UNBAREABLE AT ONE POINT, EKK.)

Rey would like to set the record straight—

She had no intention of sleeping over at Ben’s place when he invited her over.

But when the streaming morning light entered the bathroom window and Rey woke up to find herself curled up in the bathtub, she knew she must have well overstayed her welcome.

Blinking her eyes open, she found a wide showerhead above her, and a grey duvet swaddled around her body like a cocoon. The pillow tucked to her side did little to cushion her head against the tub, she accidentally thumping her head on the edge as she wiggled up.

“ _Fuck_ ,” she hissed. Cool morning air tinged her skin, Rey shivering closer to her semi-abandoned duvet. It is when she is snuggled back down into the warmth of her pillow and blankets does she realize the bathroom window is cracked open and the ultimate culprit to the near freezing temperatures in the room. “Damn it.”

With great effort, she wiggled her legs out of the duvet and kicked half of it over the tub. Arms cold and weighing heavy, Rey pushed herself up and standing.

She closed the window, the lock snapping back in place.

Satisfied, she began to crouch back down.

However, Rey didn’t account for her foot to slip and tangle in the duvet.

As she came tumbling, she grasped the only leverage in her reach—

The shower handle.

Cold water sprayed down on her in a flurry, soaking all her layers. Sweater, three-day old t-shirt, and bra. An uncharacteristic high pitched yelp came from Rey, she finally coming to her senses and blindly shutting off the shower.

The bathroom door banged open. “What happened?”

Ben stood before her, haggard and hair perfectly mussed in the just-rolled-out-of-bed way, dressed in blue flannel pajama pants.

_And shirtless._

Gloriously shirtless, and ripped— _when the fuck did he have time to work out?_ She swore on her life he lived on fast-food and coffee.

Feeling each cell in her body going aflame, Rey scoffed, averting her eyes up at the ceiling. Yet no matter how hard she tried her gaze continued to drop to his smooth, muscle rippled chest—

“Can’t you put on a cowl or something!”

**~*~**

_Twenty Hours Earlier_

She passed her midterms. Thankfully.

She even got an A on her Shakespeare in-class essay; apparently writing about _The Taming of the Shrew_ being a farce with feminist undertones was intriguing to Solo, intriguing enough to warrant an A. Rey didn’t want to think too long and hard about how well her peers did on the exam (luckily Solo emailed their results and updated their grades on Blackboard, no opportunity for in-class embarrassment as students scrambled to hide their bleeding essays in their binders or bags), choosing to relish in her own achievement before letting the fact their was still an entire half of a semester to complete after the all too short week break. A week break she’d spend locked up in her dorm, the building eerily quiet as many ventured off for to visit family or travel.

Not that she’d complain too much. With the building mostly empty, save for a few students like herself choosing to remain on campus during the break, she planned to use her floor’s kitchen and actually make edible food instead of some odd microwave concoction she found on Pinterest that had a 30/70 percent chance of working. Normally she’d bunker down at the Tico’s, Paige and Rose welcoming the company over the October break, Finn popping in a few days here and there as well. They’d decorate the small apartment for Halloween, bake to their heart’s content and attempt (key word: attempt) to get ahead on their course work.

(They never did get ahead.)

However, this year was different.

Since their fight the weekend before midterms, there’d been radio silence from both ends.

No texting. No emails. No phone calls.

Dead silence.

Once or twice through out the week Rey would find herself reaching for her phone, the debate of texting Rose looping around in her mind. Send a gif, a meme, a simple _‘hey, how are you holding up_?’ text to bridge the sudden, enormous gap between them.

Yet Rey held back. She dropped her phone back on her desk or throw back on her bed, and resumed her studying.

Sending a text to Rose sent the message Rey felt she was the guilty party, when that wasn’t the case. In fact, she didn’t see the problem on her end, but the bubbling problems on Rose, and by default, Finn’s end. They were both so consumed in their own problems and their little world of coursework and each other, they didn’t bother to look beyond their own bias. Not that Rey wasn’t susceptible to such thinking or had never been guilty of being self-centered (she had, more than she’d like to admit) but at least she tried to be better.

(Or at least she thought she tried—but that was another matter for another day.)

So she didn’t text Rose at all during midterms. And naturally, Finn took Rose’s side, also not texting or contacting Rey.

Part of her annoyed. Another part of her was relieved.

Did that make her a terrible friend? Perhaps.

But she couldn’t be worried about her friends when she had midterms and her own bullshit to sort through, like if she was going to apply for grad schools. Or if she was going to be insane and change her major last minute, or add another minor. Or if she was going to do something reckless like… _flirt_ —overtly, mind you—with Solo. Bullshit neither of her friends seems to catch nor question despite Rey feeling like a shaken up soda can about seventy-five percent of the day.

Maybe they were all terrible friends to each other, and just didn’t realize it.

The point: Rey was going to spend her midterm break far lonelier than she anticipated. A midterm break where she’d probably forget to shower three days out of the seven days, and wear the same under garments longer than any health professional would advise.

And to make matter’s worse, Rose changed the password on their joint Netflix account.

So around halfway through the second day—another rainy Sunday—Rey willed herself to get out of bed, shower, and pick up groceries because she was on her last box of _Kraft Mac n’ Cheese_ and while she loved her mac n’ cheese, she figured she couldn’t survive just off _that_ for the break.

Unfortunately, laundry was also on the to-do list for break, she choosing to remain in the same t-shirt and leggings she wore the night before—coffee stain on her left breast be damned—only adding a bra and the old sweater, one she unintentionally ( _totally intentionally_ , her mind supplied like a loud parrot) forgot to return to Solo, and wisely put on the galoshes she had tucked away from an ill advised snow trip Rose and Finn dragged her on their freshman winter break. Bundled up and grabbing an umbrella for good measure, Rey took a short trek to the _Albertson’s_ two streets over.

(Because of course the car she _could_ use and _did_ use on occasion belonged to one half of the duo ignoring her.)

Upon entering the dry, bright, and oddly perfect room temperature grocery store, Rey grabbed a hand basket and beelined for the pasta and canned foods. She threw in a box of spaghetti and marinara sauce, making the mental note of splurging and getting fresh mushrooms instead of the canned stuff for once since she’d be able to use a stovetop to cook. She ambled through to the end of the aisle to restock on her ramen and man n’ cheese stash before deciding to make her way over to the cereal section of the store.

She took her usual shortcut, going through the milk and poultry area of the store, and picked up the cheapest almond milk she could find. Dropping the carton into her basket, her grip stuttered.

“ _Damn it_.” Screw her for thinking she could handle just using a basket instead of cart. But how else would she be able to ration herself? She’d have to walk back to the dorms with her damn groceries. In the rain. With only an umbrella and borrowed (hell, it was commandeered at this point) sweater to keep her dry.

Yeah, Rey was pretty she looked as pathetic as she felt.

Determined, she hiked up her basket to her hip and continued on to the cereal aisle.

Only for her feet to stumbled to stop at who was less than four feet away.

Dressed properly for the weather with a jacket and a knit cap shoved on to his head, stood Solo, staring stubbornly between a box of _Fruit Loops_ and _Cookie Crisp_.

She felt like turnip beside him. A sad, wet, dirty turnip, uprooted from its home in the dirt and dropped beside a freaking shinny Granny Smith Apple (the largest and tartiest of the apples—fitting for Solo) on the kitchen table of life. Not the worst thing she could compare herself to considering turnips were rich in vitamins—C, A, and K to name a few—but a the vegetable was an absolute sight for sore eyes.

Her feet stuttered back, ready to flee, except—

“Rey?”

“Hey,” she greeted, adding an unnecessary wave. The weight of her basket strained on her arm. Grunting, she dropped her hand back down and held her groceries tighter. “Solo, what are you doing here?”

He held up the box of _Cookie Crisp_ higher. “…Grocery shopping.”

“Right, right,” she lifted her own basket a tad higher. “Same. Just didn’t think you’d shop the same place all the students usually shop.”

“They have better prices here and it’s down the street from my apartment.”

“Touché.” She nodded, subtly attempting to cover her chest. Better he not realize which sweater she happened to be wearing than see it and comment on it and make the entire encounter more awkward than it needed to be. “I’d choose the _Cookie Crisp_ if I were you,” she pointed to the blue and white box, “because it is like having cookies and milk in the morning while the _Fruit Loops_ ’ flavor tastes weird when it gets too soggy and nobody likes weird tasting soggy cereal.”

Solo blinked at her. “I never let my cereal get soggy. That’s for amateurs.” He chucked the _Cookie Crisp_ cereal into his cart and set the _Fruit Loops_ back to its rightful spot on the shelf. “But you make a valid point. It does have a weird taste when it gets soggy. _Cookie Crisp_ always tastes like cookies.” She felt his gaze narrow on her, a frown marring his long and mole speckled features. “…Did you walk here?”

“Excuse me?”

“You are dripping water everywhere.”

Rey glanced down at herself, discovering the growing puddle surrounding her feet. “Oh.” She shrugged nonchalantly, hoping Solo wouldn’t be more concerned than the average friend (A terrible, unlikely hope. This was the man who called her into his office because of his unwavering concern and belief in her capabilities.). “Yeah. I don’t have a car and groceries were needed—”

“How the hell do you get around then?” he asked, starting to push his cart closer towards her.

“Borrow a friend’s car for a bit when I need to run errands.”

“And when you can’t use a car?”

“Walk.”

“In the rain,” he uttered as a statement not a question, his zucchini bread brown eyes roving over her damp attire.

He stopped pushing his half full cart beside her, glancing down at her stuffed basket. She tried not to think if she leaned just a few inches closer she’d be able to catch a good whiff of him, and possibly commit to memory the scents of Ben Solo. Nope—that would be borderline creepy if she did that and Rey tried her best to not be creeping on her friend-slash-professor.

Yep.

“And let me guess, said friends who’d let you borrow their car are the same friends who you had an argument with?”

“Has anyone ever told you how incredibly clever you are at adding one-plus-one?” she quipped, far more sour than she intended.

Solo’s forehead wrinkled for a fraction of a second, but he did not seem to take the comment to heart if his next offer were anything to go by. “If you want I can give you a lift to the dorms once I’m done shopping. I just have to pick up a few more things.”

“Um…Are you sure? I don’t know about you, but I don’t want a repeat of the drive-thru fiasco.”

Solo scoffed, taking in his surroundings. “I highly doubt anyone here cares if we hang out or if I am offering a friend a ride back to her dorm.”

As though to test his theory, Rey scanned the rather empty _Albertson’s_. A few unfamiliar faces minded their own business, filling up their carts and carrying on their way. The unfamiliar faces could know of her, or perhaps they could know of Solo. But of course there was always the possibility they didn’t know of either her and Solo and she was just too paranoid after their one near slip up of sorts. But there was always the possibility—

A tired sigh came from Solo, a restless edge to his stance. “Rey, if you don’t want to chance it, then be my guest and walk back. I was just offering—”

Then again she supposed most people were too entrapped in their own lives to pay any mind to anyone else.

“ _I’d love to_!”

An older woman further down the aisle spared them a glance before shaking her head.

Damn, did she say that louder than she thought she did?

“Love to have me drive you back to the dorms?” he asked, a tinge of laughter to his words.

“Hang out,” Rey corrected, “and the ride back to the dorms too if that is still on the table.”

“Oh—okay—I wasn’t really expecting to hang out—”

Her eyes widened. “Oh, I just assumed you were offering that too since you mentioned it—”

“It was more of a figure of speech in the moment,” he said, his own eyes enlarging at the brief instant of confusion that transpired between them. “But you can if you want I suppose…”

“No,” she shook her head, “I am not going to just invite myself over. That’s rude.”

“And you haven’t done plenty of other rude things in your life?” Solo shot back, that hottake well too prepared for Rey’s liking. “Like _I don’t know_ calling me an asshole and various other insults to my face?”

“That was before I knew you,” she settled on, gesturing to all of him. “And it is different saying things than, I don’t know, inviting myself over. That is crossing a line of rudeness I don’t necessarily like to cross.”

“Ah,” he nodded once, as though he suddenly had the information he needed, “so imposing is a line you won’t cross in the spectrum of rudeness?” He hummed. “Noted.”

“No!” She scoffed, turning half away from him before facing him fully again. “No! Other friends I might just invite myself over because there is the history and the comfortability.”

His brows furrowed, a smirk tugging on the corner of his lips. “So you’re _not_ comfortable with me?”

“No! I am comfortable around you; more comfortable than most,” her face flushed a the slip of a confession (one she could tell by the way his smirk grew, Solo latched on to for safe keeping) but she barreled on, “my point is I think we haven’t reached that level of friendship yet where I can arrive on short notice at your place.”

“Because there are societal norms as to how friendships are meant to transpire?”

“Exactly!” she cried out, nearly dropping her basket.

“Which are a load of bullshit.”

“Yes—” _Wait, what?_ “No, no, no.” She shook her head as she adjusted her grip on her basket. Her arms were starting to tingle from holding the damn thing upright. “The societal norms of friendship are not bullshit—”

“But it is,” Solo insisted. He reached over the took the basket from her arms with ease and set it down on the empty side of his cart. “Because if you really cared about the conventions of friendship and those expectations we wouldn’t be here talking or even have a friendship to begin with.”

Rey opened her mouth…

And found she couldn’t argue. “That is a valid argument.”

Sensing he won on the matter, Solo began to push his cart ahead, Rey following after. Spotting _HoneyNut Cheerios_ , she grabbed the box and dropped it into the cart.

Solo tsked. “Should’ve known you liked boring cereal.”

“ _You’re_ a boring cereal,” Rey shot back, walking a step ahead.

His laugh echoed behind her

They continued their shopping together (a little detour to the bakery area elongating their trip); Rey tried her best to ignore the domesticity of the entire endeavor.

Key word: tried.

**~*~**

Rey wasn’t sure what she expected when she entered Solo’s apartment.

Possibly something that resembled a product of a put together adult. Such as a coordinated color scheme or maybe furniture that was purchased in a real furniture store and not _Ikea_ or _Target_ or the $30-and-under-filter on _Amazon_. That he’d have pictures of his friends and family, along with little personal knick-knacks littering his bookshelves and collectors editions of Shakespeare set on full display.

He was in his thirties for crying out loud. He must have accumulated _some_ possessions.

Instead, she was met with a studio apartment that didn’t have much of anything.

Bland, slate grey walls lacked décor besides a simple clock, calendar, and whiteboard filled with reminders and notes. A bed was hidden in one corner of the space, blocked off by a series of bookshelves serving as a half wall. The kitchen and breakfast bar blended into what Rey assumed was once a living space but was more of an office (a desk, lamp and floating shelves. Books and binders stacked and lined up on every possible surface) with a loveseat thrown in to be a catchall; a jacket thrown over it, a laundry basket overflowing, books and papers stacked and strewn about. A junk sofa.

No pictures. No knick-knacks. No inklings of life beyond surviving and work and well… Shakespeare. She did see numerous copies and collections lining his shelves. A sliding door led out to a balcony, a series of pots and greenery lined up on the edge and two outdoor chairs set out under the lipped roof.

Sure, the apartment looked lived in, but it did not look like a home.

More like a place he slept and where he’d occasionally eat.

Not that she could judge; her own dorm was similar in spirit. Except for the grayscale tone. More so her walls had a couple of motivational posters she bought on clearance in the student store on campus her freshman year and had just been stuck to her four walls ever since.

Solo doesn’t remark on anything in his apartment, not even a forced, polite ‘ignore the mess’ uttered out. He simply lead the way and asked her to close the door before putting all the perishables in the refrigerator (hers included, to be taken out when she took her leave).

From the opposite side of the breakfast bar, Rey watched as Solo maneuvered around the tiny kitchen, seemingly giant in the space.

“I wasn’t planning on making food today,” Solo began, setting aside his cereal and milk. “And this was sort of your idea to come…”

“Cereal is perfect.”

He gave her a closed mouth smile, taking her assurance in stride.

**~*~**

“So is this what you do?” Rey leaned further in her chair. She stirred her light brown milk, a few miniature sized cookies floating around. A cool dampness hung in the air, the rain subdue yet the dark clouds lingered, promising another storm. “Sit out on your balcony, eat cereal in the middle of day, watch people from a distance?”

“I only do this on breaks and maybe on a Saturday if I am feeling wild.” Solo scooped another spoonful of cereal in his mouth. His second serving. “Sometimes if I am out of cereal I substitute with granola.”

“Ah,” she exhaled, “you can eat healthy food.”

He snorted into his cereal. “It happens. Not all the time. But it happens.”

Picking up the box cereal, Rey poured more into her bowl to level out the cereal to milk ratio. “Not a terrible way to pass the time,” she confessed.

Her eyes caught sight of a couple walking their dog down the street. The small pup was swaddled in a orange raincoat, happily prancing into the puddles. The woman chuckled, letting the dog drag her along as the man kept pace, a hand latched to her free hand.

Her heart panged at the sight.

She always wanted a dog.

Glancing over at Solo, she felt her chest tighten. Longing was etched on his face, zucchini bread brown eyes somber as he watched the couple walk out of sight.

Together they continued to eat their cereal in silence until the large box of _Cookie Crisp_ ran empty.

**~*~**

They’d both like to claim the rest of the day was more compelling.

But it’d be a lie.

Instead most of the afternoon was spent arguing over what to watch on Netflix (using Solo’s account—they decided on _Parks & Recreation_, a safe neutral) and debating on what to order for dinner.

“I can just make food.”

“No, no,” Rey shook her head, “you weren’t intending on entertaining—”

“Yes, because this,” he motioned to her curled up position on his junk sofa (she tried to help organize his papers and books, but he just moved all his stuff to an available chair), his laptop positioned on the coffee table as their viewing screen, “is classified as entertaining.”

“To some people, yes.”

His eyes narrowed on her, glasses perched on his nose—she came to conclusion he needed them for reading and working with bluescreens—challenging her. “When was the last time you ate a homecooked meal?”

Damn. He could see right through her.

“You don’t want to know,” she relented, climbing off of the sofa. “I’ll let you cook if you let me help.”

His eyebrows jumped up. “Do you know how to cook?”

“Of course I know how to cook!”

They learned within ten minutes Rey _did_ know how to cook.

She just didn’t not know how to cook well. A burned pot of their first attempt sat in the sink, soaking and waiting to washed after dinner. Solo took it upon himself to make the sauce from scratch, using a family recipe instead of a simple jar of premade marinara.

“You have one job,” Solo handed her the wooden spoon, “stir the pasta. That’s it.”

“I can do that,” Rey assured him, taking the spoon as though it were a sword for a great quest.

“Nothing else.”

“I know.” She nodded once.

He wasn’t convinced. “I’m serious.”

“Got it.”

Luckily she didn’t fail completely, only getting a few strands of spaghetti stuck to the bottom of the pot. Solo was able to mix it all the ingredients together, Rey feeling a tad satisfied to know she contributed.

They once again found themselves sitting together outside, colder than before, but bundled up in more layers and gaining warmth from their bowls of spaghetti.

The yellowish glow of the lights inside brought a soft backlight to the balcony, a gentleness to the scene. The street below was empty, a few lights across the street flicking on and a few flicking off as neighbors turned in for the night or became one with the night. Above them stars shined down, the sky clear for the first time in days.

“You know, Solo, have the perfect balcony for someone to come and Juliet you.”

He snorted into his glass of water. “Excuse me? ‘Juliet’ me?”

“Yeah,” Rey motioned to the edge of the balcony, her mouth full, “you are on the second floor, and you have a lattice underneath here. Someone can climb up that and break out into soliloquy!”

Solo chuckled at the thought, poking at his food but not quite eating it. “I suppose…”

“So you wouldn’t admit you chose to live here because of the Shakespearean qualities of the balcony?”

A small smirk formed on his lips. “Maybe…but I didn’t realize it until later, okay?”

“Sure…” she drawled out, a little giddy over his unintentional nerdiness.

Unable to help herself, Rey set down her bowl and stood up from her seat, tucking the throw blanket Solo loaned her over the back of the chair. She hurried over to the edge of the balcony, and swung one leg over.

“Whoa! What are you doing?” She heard him cry out, stumbling out of his seat and clamoring his way over to her.

“I’m fine! My foot is on the ledge,” she assured him, waving Solo away. “Just go with it!”

“Go with it?” he echoed. His hand latched on to her forearm despite her words. “I’d rather not.”

“Pretend I’m Romeo and I just ran through the night to find you and say goodnight,” she insisted, poking him in the chest.

He snorted, his grip tightening on her the longer she sat on the rail. “ _Romeo & Juliet_ is arguably the worst.”

Rey gasped dramatically, clutching one hand to her chest. “Did I just hear Professor Solo speak slander against the great Bard?” Taking a deep breathe, she attempted to recall the opening lines to Romeo’s soliloquy. “Oh Solo, oh Solo—”

“It’s Ben.”

Her next words of her butchered rendition were swallowed back.

“What?”

“My name,” he ducked his head down, a faint blush dusting his ears, “is Ben. You can call me Ben.”

“Oh,” she blinked up at him, stunned. She never put a second thought into calling Professor Solo anything other than Solo. “I just…”

“We’ve been hanging out for weeks and you are at my house, I think you can call me by my first name, Rey.”

“Right…”

Heat danced up her neck as he stared down at her, the glow from the lights inside softening his features. He looked gentler, more a leading romantic hero than a grumpy scholar. Perhaps he imagined himself as the Friars and Clergymen in the Shakespeare he consumed, not the Romeo. Not the Ferdinand, or even the Benedick.

But he could be.

“…Ben.”

She wanted to kiss him.

_What the fuck?_

She couldn’t kiss him no matter how much she wanted to smash his lips (deliciously full and tempting lips) to her lips. To keep his warm, brown eyes on her forever, where he only wanted her and only her. For him to hold her, not just her arm, but all of her.

But that was a stupid, stupid series of thoughts because Ben—goddamn it he was now ‘Ben’, not ‘Solo’ and suddenly that became a personal red tape she didn’t know she would or freak out about crossing—was her professor. He read her papers and graded them, and insisted she was brilliant and thought she had potential and—

She needed to get out there. _Fast_.

Without thinking, Rey tried to swing her leg back around and get two solid feet on the balcony.

But apparently Ben didn’t get the memo. He pulled her close, thinking she was going to fall in the opposite direction—like two stories down to the damp grass.

Their foreheads clonked together, Ben keeping his hold on her as she tumbled back on to the wooden balcony floor and bumping her head once more on railing as she came down.

“Shit! Rey, are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” she claimed, trying to stand back.

“No, you’re not— _you’re bleeding_.”

Touching her forehead, Rey felt wet-stickiness. Removing her hand, she found red stained on her hands.

Her stomach churned and her vision blurred.

“Rey are you—”

Her vision blackened, Rey slumping back against the railing.

**~*~**

_Presen_ t _Day_

“You’re bandage is wet,” Ben told her as he shrugged on a black sweater.

Stepping further into the bathroom, he coaxed her to come closer to get better look.

She hissed at his touch.

“Come on,” he offered her his hand, helping Rey out of the bathtub and leading her to sit down on the closed toilet seat. “Lets see how your head is doing.”

“What the hell happened?” Rey groaned. Upon realizing just how close Ben stood in front of her, she slammed her eyes shut. She didn’t need to conjure up the image of Ben’s ripped chest and imagine how his body would feel if she just smothered her face into his sweater. Just less than four inches away…

“You hit your head—barely and got a small cut on your head.”

“But that doesn’t make sense why I was passed out in the bathtub.”

She felt his body tense at the comment, before confessing the truth. “You passed out at the sight of your own blood.”

“Oh shit.”

“Yeah.”

Warm, large hands pulled off the band-aid in one go, Rey wincing as the adhesive tugged at her hairline. A slather of antibiotic ointment was rubbed in tiny circles into her skin.

“And then when I got you cleaned up, you refused to leave the bathroom, kind of in this weird half awake-half asleep state. I turned around for two seconds and then you were asleep in the tub.”

“Oh,” her nose wrinkled, “sorry about that. I was planning on leaving last night.”

“It’s alright,” Ben assured her, “I’m just relieved you’re okay. You kind of scared me there for a moment.” Her new band-aid was placed securely on her forehead. “There you go. All better.”

She smiled up at him. “Thanks. Really, for everything.”

“No problem.” His hands dropped back at his sides, Ben taking a step away from her. “I’m going to go get some coffee going. You are welcome to have some.”

“That sounds great,” Rey said, combing a hand through her bedhead. Grease came off on her hand, her three day lack of shampooing obvious. Biting her lips together, she discreetly tucked her hand under her thigh. “I’ll join you in a bit, just need to freshen up. Kind of slept in a bathtub last night.”

A small, under-the-breath chuckled escaped Ben, he nodding at her in understanding. He left her with a small wave and closed the door behind him.

Once she heard his footsteps fade, Rey slumped against the bathroom sink.

Only she would faint at the sight of her own blood in front of Ben.

She was a walking disaster, yet he still liked her company.

Either Ben Solo was the kindest and most considerate man alive, or…

Or maybe he liked her. Genuinely really liked her.

Rey wasn't too sure which one she hoped for more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, Rey. What are we going to do with you?


	7. Cordelia Was Clever & Ignorant

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heyyyyy.
> 
> So this chapter took longer to write for reasons that I don't understand, but possibly because I debated on including something major in this chapter but then decided to save it for later.
> 
> Anyways...
> 
> I skimmed this and just posted so...Typos will be fixed later! Enjoy :D
> 
> WARNING: ANGST AND DISCUSSION OF CHARACTER DEATH PRIOR TO FIC EVENTS.

“So I just need those inputted into the system by next week or else I’ll get underclassmen knocking on my door, asking nonstop about when grades will be updated and I honestly cannot handle those children right now.”

Dr. Organa inhaled her coffee, exhausted by talking. The woman was running on fumes.

Sitting across from her, Rey made work to note all of her advisor’s instructions.

And not think how she slept in her mentor/professor’s/boss’ son’s bathtub and subsequent couch over midterm break.

(Yeah, she well over stayed her welcome, her visit a total of two days rather than the initial planned _one_ afternoon.)

Not that anything happened.

Nothing did.

Except for Professor Solo asking her to call him ‘Ben.’ How he nursed her back to health like she was some turn of the century solider, needing the graces of an attractive specimen to get her back to her right senses.

Not that he knew that of course. Ben was probably just being nice because for an asshole professor he could be nice and patch up her tiny injury.

( _“You do know it was a tiny-tiny cut?” he asked, passing her a cup of coffee. “Smaller than a pinky fingernail.”_

_“So? There was a shit ton of blood.”_

_“All head and facial injuries of any kind bleed more because of the thin layer of skin, the capillaries—”_

_“I thought you were the academic philosophical type of doctor?” She raised an eyebrow. “Not the M.D. kind.”_

_His brows furrowed, a half snort sneaking out of him. “I am. But this is also basic biology most people take in middle school, or at the very least high school. So for you that would be secondary education, year three—” She rolled her eyes at his knowledge of the British School system; was he expecting kudos points for doing research, like Googling the damn thing? “—and haven’t you ever popped at a pimple? Blood just comes gushing out—”_

_“No, because I don’t like blood and that is disgusting, Ben.”_

_“No, you are just weird.”)_

“…Did you get all that, Rey?”

Shaken out of her stupor, Rey hummed in agreement. “Get the grades in before next week. Got it.”

“ _And_ email me that letter of rec,” Dr. Organa added, exasperated at her lack of attention. “I have a little free time Sunday morning, so I want to be able to look over it before signing off.”

“Oh, right.” She nodded her head once, a swoop in her gut at letter of rec mention. But her stomach churned curiously, more so at the fact Dr. Organa had a free time during the weekend but chose to spend it doing work rather than…

Well, rather than spending time with her son.

_(“I do love my mother.”_

_“I believe you.”_

_“She just has always chosen work over family. I have been second to what Leia Organa wants since I could remember.”_

_“Now you cannot honestly think that—”_

_“She missed the majority of my birthdays growing up. Never went to my play performances in high school or college. She knew about my life through people who took care of me rather than knowing first hand herself.”_

_“So she’s always been a workaholic.” A statement rather than a question. The truth had a way of glaring at her, Rey a firsthand witness to Dr. Organa’s tendencies._

_“Yes. Both her and my dad. For different reasons.” He paused, a shadow of apprehension over his face. “I cannot remember the last she and I spent more than five minutes together. Just the two of us.”)_

“Do…do you have any plans for the weekend?”

Dr. Organa blinked. A flash of pain shadowed her eyes—

Then was locked away into the depths of her mind, she acting as though her carefully crafted persona had not faltered.

“No. Mostly just spending it with myself. You’ll learn to value alone time at my age.”

Rey found that to be complete bullshit.

When one lived most of their life alone, spending the rest of their life alone, even the quiet moments, was not ideal.

_(“Then why don’t you try and plan something with her?”_

_“She’d find an excuse to not go. She is a pro at politely declining.”_

_“Well, to me is sounds like you are a ‘pro’ at expecting the worst from her.”_

_“With her track record…” he shook his head. “Maybe I am? At this point, I don’t get my hopes up about my mother anymore.”)_

Just the few days with Ben, them talking and not talking. Simply just…hanging out—even though a part of really wanted to do more than just the platonic hang out, but that was very much _not_ appropriate, all circumstances considering and he probably just saw her as a friend and she was fine, absolutely fine with that because that is what she wanted, okay?—and not being alone. Because spending those two days with him, Rey realized Ben was far lonelier than she thought.

His neighborhood was quiet and he didn’t seem to know many of the people on his street. His phone never went off, except for the few emails from students and the emergency flash flood warning from campus safety. He talked briefly about one person, Armitage Hux, who lived in the building, but only in justification on why he had a litterbox in his bathroom. He’d cat-sit for the man, Ben making it clear that was the extent of their friendship of convenience. His apartment lacked personal touches all together, not even a group photo or a family photo to make note of in the studio.

And while she was not the most social person, Rey did have notifications on her phone when she finally summoned up the nerve to turn her device back on.

Yes, it was one from Finn asking if she needed an extra pack or two of ramen because he knew she didn’t have a car and the weather was terrible. So it was more of a ‘please indicate you are alive’ sort of text message, but a text message none the less.

No one texted Ben at all during those two days to see if he was okay, how he was doing, or contacted with any desire to chat.

Perhaps she and Ben were simply on the sad end of the social-busy-people scale. Not like Finn and Rose, who’s phones would chime non-stop with social media notifications, or messages from group chats, or an email about some club on campus. Or like Dr. Organa, who’s phone would blink alight with emails every two to three minutes. Like it did in the last few minutes Rey sat in her office.

“Do you want to get brunch?”

The words flew out of Rey’s mouth before she could realize what she was saying.

_“Excuse me?”_

“I can bring a hard copy and we can go over the letter together while we eat,” Rey’s mouth continued to run, as though it had a mind of its own, “that is if you have enough free time…?”

“Oh, uh,” Leia blinked, not expecting such an offer, “I haven’t really gone to a regular brunch in ages. I don’t know…”

“I’ll be fun!”

In all honesty, Rey didn’t know if it would be fun considering she never had ‘brunch’ herself. She wasn’t much for seeing people in a social get together before noon. Not to mention she was much of a drinker either, so mimosas wouldn’t necessarily be on the table. More so corpus amounts of coffee because Rey would undoubtedly be working until the wee-hours of the morning trying to write a letter of recommendation that didn’t sound too much like her own voice.

Plus she hated talking about herself.

“I suppose we can…you are going to eventually become a colleague one day. Might as well start treating you like one.”

A swell of hope coursed through Rey; Dr. Organa considering her an equal was a matter she never considered. It was sort of thrilling to think one day the esteemed woman wouldn’t view her as the little assistant who organized the grade book, but a full-fledged scholar with her own accomplishments.

“Is there any where you’d like to… go?” Rey asked, feeling lame at how awkward the words came out.

Dr. Organa hummed, giving a curtesy thought before shaking her head. “How about you pick and send me the details,” the question was more of a statement, leaving little room for otherwise. Checking her watch, Dr. Organa began to collect her belongings for her neck class. “I need to get going. Please take care of that list and I’ll see you Sunday.”

Dr. Organa left before Rey could impose any other requests for brunches or meals or letters of rec.

~*~

In perfect cursive, the title _King Lear_ was written across the whiteboard. Dates and characters were written under the title, along with some strong theme words to encapsulate the play.

And Ben was _ranting_.

Really, really, ranting.

“But Cordelia was clever! Far more clever than any of us! Than any of her sisters!” Ben clutched the small podium at the front of the small classroom, for once using it more than a landing pad for his satchel and jacket. “But she was also so incredibly stupid. Does anyone one understand _why_ she was incredibly stupid?”

Stunned, unsure eyes glanced at each other in the room.

“Because all the Lears were ignorant! And arrogant! And believed themselves to be smarter than each other, and that was their ultimate downfall.” He stressed, arms shaking under his stern grip. “Their familial rivalry put a strain under the entire kingdom, and each other. It led to death and destruction!”

Sitting in the back and apprehensive by his entire display, Rey wasn’t too sure if he was talking about _King Lear_ or perhaps his own family.

“To put plainly Cordelia screwed over her father because she didn’t play into his game of love and therefore screwed over the entire kingdom because he had to divide in half and came up with crack-pot retirement plan where he’d just rotate month by month to Reagan and Goneril’s territories because it was the second best idea he had,” he scoffed, scrubbing his jaw and wiping his nose with the back of his hand, clearly overwhelmed with emotion, “But then again Cordelia was not stupid because she did not want to betray her morals or her beliefs and spoke plainly, and her father just didn’t understand because for once they weren’t speaking the same language, and maybe they never did. She didn’t want to play into his games…she just wanted to be honest. And her honesty got her banished, never to see her family again. Until her father…,” his voice cracked, a sense of dread and remorse filling him from the inside out, “…until her father died.”

Silence consumed the room, Ben staring out into the abyss of nowhere.

A pen clattering on to the floor revived him, he blinking out to the faces of his concerned students.

Sure, Ben was passionate…but he was never borderline manic, on the verge of an emotional breakdown.

“Class is dismissed for today and cancelled for the rest of the week,” he announced, monotone on the fringe of defeat. His hand wiped away at his face, as though tucking away the spur of unexpected emotion away. He stood straight and moved away from the podium to gather his belongings off a nearby desk. “I’ll email a powerpoint on _King Lear_ later this week, along with a quiz on Blackboard. I also expect a short, three page analysis of _King Lear_ with a critical theory of your choice. Remember these short papers can become the basis of your long paper; put real, genuine thought into it.”

With that, he left class with little explanation.

A few of the students glanced at each other, everyone silently asking each other _“did that just freaking happen_?” with their wide eyes and flabbergasted, open jaws.

Jacen Catello broke the silence, he seemingly the most stunned by the events that had transpired moments ago. “That was…”

“Has Solo finally lost it?” Tallie muttered, earning a few half-hearted chuckles from their peers. “I mean, I knew he was possibly borderline psychotic when I signed up—” Rey’s stomach swooped low at the snide comment, the heat of annoyance bubbling from within her,”—but leaving a class in the middle of the day like that? Giving absurd grades? Yelling at us like _that_? I’m surprised he even still has this job—”

“Oh, fuck off, Tallie,” Rey blurted out without second thought.

All eyes in the room snapped to her in the back row, astonished to find she was there.

Hell, she was stunned she was still there, let along telling Tallie to ‘fuck off.’

“Excuse me—”

Well, Rey already dug her grave, might as lay in it and throw some roses around her for good measure.

“Yes, I told you to ‘fuck off,’ because frankly, you are being a pissy bitch.” A series of gasps echoed in the room, Rey rolling her eyes at the others’ theatrics. “Second of all, he _isn’t_ a ‘psycho’ and don’t go throwing that word around. He is a fucking human being who has to live in this shit storm of a world like the rest of us. A human being with real, complex emotions, and depth. Real true depth, that idiots like you don’t understand. So yeah, maybe something happened today—something we don’t know about, because that _happens in life_ —and he needed to leave. Have some damn compassion, Tallie. It’s not that hard.”

The other woman’s nose wrinkled. “Ew, do you have a crush on Professor Solo?”

“Ugh!” Rey was terribly too tired of Tallie to warrant her remark with a response.

“You do!” Tallie cried out. “I mean, I figured that was the case considering how you look at him and all. Not to mention the fact I’ve seen you practically stalk his office hours—”

“Wait,” Jacen began, eyebrows furrowed together in deep concentration.

His eyes lifted to find Rey’s, she pleading he wouldn’t make the connection to a couple of weeks previous. Hoping he wouldn’t be too clever to figure out it was her sitting in Ben’s car, not some random cousin. She didn’t know Jacen too well to gauge his observational skills and intelligence, a poor fact on her end. Rey was usually better at this; reading people was a skill she learned to cultivate as a child. She had _really_ let herself go these days, letting her guard down for a nice, nerdy man who lamented too much about Shakespeare for anyone’s own good.

As though sensing her silent prayers, Jacen shook his head, confused. “Nevermind. I thought…but, no. Nevermind,” he repeated again, more sure than before.

Relieved, Rey tucked away her notebook into her messenger bag and left before she could hear anymore of her classmate’s comments. She had to find Ben, and being concerned with petty gossip would do no one good.

~*~

Based on Rey’s limited knowledge, there were only so many places Ben could have possible sought refuge.

One was his apartment; however she highly doubted he left to his apartment considering he was a workaholic to a fault. He might have cancelled class, but that did not mean he cancelled the work day. There was also the fact he might have been running away from his personal problems, and going back to his apartment could only bring ill feeling. Of what? Rey wasn’t too sure; his studio didn’t have many personal touches, except for his books and schedules (and stacks upon stacks of notebooks filled with who knows what), but anything could be triggering in the case of a traumatic event.

Considering these factors, Rey figured Ben would go to a location where he’d be able to accomplish some work.

Which ruled out Maz’s because he’d eat pizza and watch _The Godfather_ all afternoon, avoiding all responsibilities, and feel guilty about his actions around midnight.

(He’d done so once a couple of weeks back. He’d gone to get a late dinner and to get some grading done, only to end up being at Maz’s past closing watching the trilogy.

Rey got a text—more so a series of long, essay style messages—somewhere between midnight and one in the morning. They started out as a discussion on the impact of _The Godfather_ on modern storytelling before morphing into regret filled lament about how he needed to be better at time management, how eating his weight in pizza was never the answer, and how maybe he needed to be more focused.

Again, this was coming from the man who lived, ate, and breathed his job. If he became anymore focused, he’d become his _mother_ and well…

Neither really wanted that.

Ben was beyond dedicated, the most committed and prepared instructor Rey had encountered on campus in all four years of undergrad, yet spiraled into self-doubt, anxious musings, and animosity towards himself.

Part of Rey wanted to assure him he was doing fine—he could take a break if he so desired. He did not need to be on high alert all the time. She wanted to tell him he didn’t need to prove himself to anyone, let alone the students and faculty at the university. He did not need to be the best if he was already doing his best and because she could tell when he pushed himself or scolded himself, he kind-of sort-of mentally-slash-emotionally suffered, which is never a healthy state to reside at in the slightest. She just wanted him to know she cared and thought he was pretty great guy/professor/friend/human being—and the list can go on if she let herself get lost in her thoughts long enough.

She wanted to tell him that.

But she couldn’t really because then she’d be a hypocrite and Ben would, possibly, throw her words back at her because she was the same way.

What two peas in a pod they were. Both too hard on themselves, working too much to prove themselves to people who seemingly did not care, always wanting to prove a point. No wonder they gravitated towards each other.)

With his office, apartment, and Maz’s crossed off her list, there was only one reasonable location Ben could possibly be…

“The back is for employees only, young lady! Respect the sign!”

Kenobi’s insistent shout went ignored, Rey marching towards the back room the moment she entered the bookshop. The mentioned sign was glued to the door, faded to a dullish red and black from it’s years of use and light sun damage.

“I know he is back here. I just want to see him,” she told him plainly. She didn’t know Kenobi well, but she was aware he had a sense of uppity to him with an apparent edge of compassion. He did not seem _too_ bothered by her when she sought shelter during the storm a few weeks back; in fact he appeared rather indifferent towards her, Kenobi a mere stickler for his self-imposed rules yet willing to bend them for his ‘nephew.’

She reached the flip-top counter before him, starting to lift it open—

Only for him to push it back down closed.

“No,” Kenobi ordered, she for once recognizing his toned down and faded British accent. The lock on his side latched in place, the older man staring her down in warning. “You are not going to come back here. He wants to be alone right now, and rightly so. If you truly respected him and cared for him, you’d understand that Ben needs his space.”

Rey seethed at the implications he threw her way—she did care, damn it! She just wanted to know what was wrong; what caused Ben to be overwhelmed with emotion and flee like he was some tragic Shakespearean hero.

(Ben would be all too proud and distraught over such a comparison. But she wasn’t one to lie—well, wasn’t one to lie about seven times out of ten, if she were being perfectly honest.)

“I just want to—”

“No.”

“Please?” Rey tried again, hating how pitiful she sounded. Like some desperate, lovesick girl, when really she was a desperate overly concerned friend—at least that is what she told herself repeatedly as she made the trek to the bookshop. “I don’t even know what is going on. He just up and left class and said it was cancelled for the rest of the week. No explanation at all. I just want to know what happened.”

Miraculously, Kenobi’s steel-blue eyes softened. His hands did not released their hold on the counter, but he no longer stood at the defense. “He didn’t tell you?”

Rey shook her head, suddenly nervous to speak. She was treading into unknown waters, forced to rely on a man she hardly knew to give her the answers.

The older man sighed, shoulders slumping. “This week marks the one year anniversary of his father’s passing.”

“ _Oh_.”

Rey wasn’t too sure how to respond to the news.

Ben mentioned his father here and there in passing, but always in present tense. Like the man was just a phone call away.

He never alluded the man could be dead. Nor did Dr. Organa, now that Rey thought about it. Both mentioned the man off handedly, acted as though he’d gone off on a long adventure. She thought perhaps he was off on a roadtrip; Ben made it sound like that was the case.

But the man was dead and the way Kenobi made it sound…it hit Ben hard. Harder than anyone knew.

“How did it happen?”

Kenobi’s lips pursed, annoyance radiating off of him in a snap. “You lack all social graces don’t you?”

“I—”

“No wonder he likes you,” he interjected, rolling his eyes.

Rey definitely didn’t know how to respond to _that_.

He stepped away from the counter, walking towards the opposite side of the front counter, where a coffee pot was set, half full with a steaming brew. With ease, he poured an extra cup and set it down by the empty stool behind the counter.

“Are you going to just stand there like a fool or come have a drink?” He sipped his own forgotten mug, eyeing her warily. “I’m not going to let you see him, not by my own doing, but he locked the backroom from the inside. None of us can get back there even if we wanted to,” he explained, his bitter disdain breaking the frosty tension. “Might as well enjoy some coffee and wait it out with each other.”

She didn’t need to be told twice when coffee was involved.

At least in her eyes the free coffee could be seen as some kind of reward for her efforts, all things considering.

Her apparent rescue and deep emotional conversation she mentally planned out with Ben was not going to happen. Not like she expected him to welcome her with open arms, but she at least thought she’d be able to speak to him somewhat—like through a door or maybe just sitting together in silence like some melodramatic scene from all those indie films on Netflix.

Instead she was drinking coffee with his Great-Uncle in his bookshop.

_Waiting_.

But it was alright; if Rey was good at anything, it was waiting.

“So…what book would you recommend?” She could not help but ask with a cheeky grin.

Kenobi’s deadpan stare could break glass. “You are not as funny as you think you are.”

Rey tucked into her coffee and homework for the rest of the afternoon.

~*~

Ben didn’t leave the backroom until closing time.

A muttered ‘thanks’ to Kenobi began to leave his lips as he beelined to the front door, wanting to leave as quickly as possible. He spent the entire day grading, compiling powerpoint lectures for the rest of that week’s classes as well as the followings, adjusting some of his older class plans to fit that year’s curriculum. He didn’t like having remote classes, believing the students weren’t getting the full worth of their tuition dollars, but he also knew some of his students would appreciate the week of online classes, especially with the final in roughly four weeks time.

The only terrible part of powering through his work that afternoon was the amount of free time he unfortunately had on his hands.

Enough free time to let his mind wander on matters he did not want his brain to harvest on.

His father. His mother. His uncle. Life. Death. Morality.

But if he didn’t think about those things he thought about…

Well he thought about his own life. Like the people who were in his life.

Like one young woman who somehow wiggled her way into his heart without even trying, but just by being there and listening and being _honest_.

And it wasn’t that he wanted to like her, he just…always _did_ like her. As a student, as a person. Not…not in that _other_ way.

(He really, really, really couldn’t like her in that _other_ way because that would be bad. So he told himself again and again he did not like her in _that_ way. Because she was young, and smart, and way too good for him, and his friend—and most importantly she was his student and that was a line he would never cross.

Not that there was any policy stating faculty and students could _not_ be romantically involved if there wasn’t a conflict of interest. However there was indeed a conflict of interest and Ben did not want to touch that conflict of interest, even though the thought of literally touching—

Okay, he needed to stop thinking about her. All together.

Because she made him an flustered idiot and Ben Solo was _not_ a flustered idiot.)

That was when he finally spotted her from behind the counter.

Head resting on her open textbook, drool dripped out of her mouth and on to the glossy pages of _Feminism and Philosophy_. Her laptop was open, but the power light flickered a dull orange, signaling a dead battery.

He shut the device closed and tucked it into her messenger bag sitting on the counter.

“What is she doing here?”

Writing down and marking the day’s gross in his notebook, Kenobi harrumphed. “Waiting,” he glared at Ben over the rim of bifocals, “for _you_.”

Ben’s eyebrows furrowed. “Excuse me?”

“She came in around three, looking for you,” Kenobi answered, unfazed by the Ben’s shock. “When she found out you locked yourself up in the backroom, she decided to stay and annoy the hell out of me until you let yourself out.”

His gut dropped low, regret washing over Ben like a tidal wave. “She’s been here for _eight hours_?”

“Yes.” Kenobi shut off the register and the coffee pot, going through the motions of closing shop.

“And you didn’t think to tell me?”

“Why would I tell you?” Kenobi asked, a hit of mock in his tone. “You came in this afternoon in a huff and declared you wanted to be alone and to not bother you. I knew why, but clearly the girl didn’t.”

Ben huffed. “If I knew Rey was here—”

“You would have what?” His namesake pressed, already gathered up his belongings and walking to the top-flip counter. “Came out and talked? Actually talk to her and tell her what was wrong, or ignore her and wallow? Hmm? Or perhaps say something unkind and hurt her feelings?” He lifted the flip-top and exited the counter area. “I did you a favor, Ben. I saved you from having to pick up the pieces of young girl’s broken heart—”

“Rey’s not like that,” Ben found himself defending, yet not with full conviction. “She doesn’t like me…like that—the—the ya know,” he fumbled over the words, face flushing the longer he struggled, “she doesn’t like me like in a school girl crush way. She’s a friend. She’d understand.”

Kenobi tutted, smothering a harsh laugh. “Just ‘a friend’ doesn’t waste their entire afternoon waiting for a man like you to give them the time of day. A friend would understand you need space and would not bother you, probably would send a message or call later.” The older man shrugged, not too sure what the younger generation did these days, but had some understanding about how it all worked. “But she waited here, all day. She wanted to make sure you were okay.” A solemn air settled over him, Kenobi sparing Rey a small glance. “Your grandmother would do the same thing for your grandfather when he got in his moods. Always waiting, always wanting to do something to help and be there for him. So often he left her in the dark about everything in his life…” He shook his head, tired. “Don’t be like your grandfather.” Kenobi patted Ben’s shoulder in parting, heading for the front door. “And remember to lock up!”

He watched the older man leave, the comparison still ringing in his ears.

Ben wasn’t like his grandfather. He tried his best to not be like Anakin—the comparisons he received as a child to the man leaving their own scars—but history liked to repeat itself in odd ways, or better yet rhyme.

At least his father liked to see it that way.

His eyes landed back on Rey. At some point during his and Kenobi’s conversation her head slipped off her makeshift-textbook pillow. Her head rested on the counter, her arms curled on the surface like poorly twisted pretzels.

Stepping closer to her, he picked up her textbook and shoved it into her messenger bag, beside her laptop. Quietly, he packed away the rest of her belongings, letting her sleep a few moments longer. Once her was done, he knew he could no longer prolong the inevitable.

“Hey, Rey—” He called out, slinging her bag over his shoulder along with his,“—you need to get up.”

She grunted, though did not make any means to move.

“Rey,” he tried again. “Come on, wake up.”

When it didn’t work, again, Ben knew he’d have to do more.

Gentle yet firm, he shook her shoulder, “Rey, wake—”

A hand flew out, whacking him away.

_“Get off me!”_ came her slurred, sleep muddled words. Her head was up and her arms out, prepared for another attack.

“Shit—sorry,” Ben sputtered, rubbing the arm she hit. Despite being asleep seconds earlier, Rey knew how to pack a punch.

“Ben?” She blinked groggily at him. Her eyes darted around, slowly recognizing her surroundings. “Agh, I feel asleep. I’m sorry—”

“Why are you apologizing?” An amused smirk found a way out of him, before turning down into a frown. “You have nothing to apologize for. I was the one ignoring the world, not you.”

“Because I hit you,” Rey explained as though it were obvious. She hopped off the stool and ambled around the counter to the store front. There was a rigidness to her step after she woke, a tick he noticed when she was at his apartment. As though she never quite had a restful, deep sleep and always remained in a fitful and tense state even in slumber. “I didn’t mean to. It’s an old reflex.”

His brows furrowed. “Reflex?”

“Sometimes there were shitty people in group homes,” she said as an answer and nothing more. As she came over to him, she shrugged on her jacket and held a hand out for her bag.

He wanted to be a gentleman and carry it for her, but he knew in an instant Rey wouldn’t appreciate the gesture. She was defensive and awkward about things like that— _that_ being generous and kind acts. He knew she had her reasons and she was trying to get better at letting people do things for because they _wanted_ to and because they cared about her, a somewhat foreign concept to Rey. She trusted few people, and unfortunately she had a somewhat vague fallout with her two closest friends. He didn’t know the exact details, but he knew it bothered Rey; she was terrible at keeping her emotions in check, an open book to the world.

So without qualms, he handed over her messenger bag.

“Thank you,” she nodded at him. Her inquisitive hazel eyes latched on him and reeled him into her obit, Ben finding himself staring right back at her with same intensity she always seemed to wear like a jumpsuit. “Um, I’m glad you are alright…”

A meek, broken sigh escaped him. “I’m really not,” he confessed, cringing. “If you haven’t noticed I am bottler.” He motioned to all of himself to prove his point. “I bottle up everything I ever feel and let it just explode at the most inopportune moment.”

“Ah,” a gentle knowing grin graced her features, her once groggy face bright and awake. “I see. And that moment happened to be during class?”

“Yeah,” he muttered, praying his face wasn’t read and flaming like it felt to be on the inside. “You didn’t have to come here and waste away your afternoon—”

“I wanted to,” she blurted out, biting her lips together a second after. “I wanted to make sure you were okay.” Her eyes pinched closed, a part of her revealed with ever word she spoke, and she seemingly afraid to be witness the aftermath. “You had me worried.”

His chest ached. “Rey—I don’t want you to ever worry about me. Especially when I’m like that—”

“You can’t control when someone is or isn’t worried about you,” she said, eyes flashing ablaze in annoyance. “They just do and I’m not trying to make you feel bad or anything, I just wanted to see you were okay and I guess…” she trailed off, nose wrinkled and unsure. “I guess that’s it then. I need to get going. I have an exam tomorrow.” She shook her head, already walking towards the door.

“Rey, wait,” Ben called after her, following a few paces behind. Upon hearing her name, she turned back to him, confused and if not a bit frustrated. “I—I appreciate that you were here. That you…that you wanted to check in on me. That’s more than anyone had done for me in while,” he paused, considering his words, “except for Kenobi, but he’s always been wise and caring and shit, it’s like second nature to him.”

Rey snorted, shoulders bouncing up and down. “He does have some wise old man vibes to him.”

“Sometimes I think he was just born as a wise old man and had to unfortunately grow into it.”

Her cackle echoed in the empty bookshop, Rey clutching her stomach in mirth. “God, he must have been so pretentious as a young man!”

“Perhaps,” Ben mumbled through his own chuckles. “But what I’m trying to say is thank you. For…for being there for me even when I didn’t really know it.”

She sobered at his words, a faint pink tinge dusting the apples of her cheeks and the tip of her nose. “Of course. That’s what friends are for.”

He hoped she noticed how strange it felt to call themselves ‘friends’.

Because yes they were, but somehow they were also something completely different and he didn’t know how to name it.

But he knew they were something special.

So maybe that was reason enough to give her a proper explanation.

“My mom cancelled on me. Again.”

“What? What do you mean cancelled?” she asked, the distance between them decreasing as she inched closer.

“She called me before Shakespeare to let me know she wanted to cancel our lunch for Sunday.” Ducking his head down, Ben suddenly found the mod-green carpet of the bookshop all too interesting at the moment. More so than seeing the pity in Rey, beautiful, far too expressive honey hazel eyes. “One we’ve had planned for months, mind you. One we planned to have to spend the day together since…since that week— _this week_ ,” his throat tightened as he forced out the words, unable to keep a brave face any longer, “this week is the anniversary of my dad’s passing. Today is actually the day, in fact. And she cancelled. Said she couldn’t do it and…” Hot tears trailed down his face, Ben making quick work to wipe them away. “God, why the hell—It’s not like she hasn’t cancelled plans with me before—she has, but…but this is fucking different because she is avoiding me and has been avoiding me for almost a year and it’s because dad and I know it, and _she_ knows it and it is just ridiculous at this point.”

Firm, comforting hands grasped his shaking own, anchoring him back down.

“Ben,” Rey’s voice held his name in a gentle hug, a soft reassurance he never knew he needed, “I’m sorry she did that. I really am. You don’t…you don’t deserve that. Really. If I could make it better I would but—”

“It’s not your fault, Rey.” Ben blinked back the heat and stink of fresh tears, a tingle of embarrassment crawling up his spine. “That’s just how she is and I was stupid to think she’d be different this time. That she changed.”

He wasn’t too sure what he expected from his mother these days. His hope in her died piece by piece each time, to the point Ben wondered if he ever crossed her mind, even in passing. As always, he remained a little blip in his mother’s world and he was all too consumed with the hope she’d notice him.

Even then—with Rey hold his hands, he couldn’t full embrace the moment because he was snotty mess.

“Ya know what?” Rey declared, startling Ben out of his musing. “Let’s do brunch on Sunday.”

“Why—”

“We can go to the Bounty Hunter Brew—we both like their coffee and it is far away from campus we wouldn’t see anyone we know. We can eat our weight in pastries and if you want to talk about your dad you can and if you don’t then there is no pressure! No pressure at all and it will be just us.”

She grinned far too bright at him, Ben unnerved by her sudden burst of enthusiasm.

He was apprehensive. They hardly gone anywhere in public together besides Maz’s. Going out, even for coffee, felt like he was asking for trouble.

But he’d never pass up an opportunity to spend time with Rey.

“Uh, yeah. Yeah, actually that sounds nice. I’d like that a lot.”

“Perfect!” She released his left hand and began to lead him out of the bookshop. “By the way, can you drive me back to the dorms. It’s late and I don’t feel like walking…” Rey trailed off, letting go of his right hand to let him lock up shop.

Lifting his gaze, he found her leaning against door, smiling up at him and her honey hazel eyes darkening to a mossy hue in the glow of the moonlight.

She was there…but just out of reach.

Like she needed to be.

“I was already planning on it. Wouldn’t want you to go out on your own.”

As they walked to his car in companionable silence Ben could not help but think…

_Han would have liked Rey._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SURPRISE! A BEN POV.
> 
> Benny boy just needed a moment to shine alright?
> 
> But...did anyone catch what Rey just did?????
> 
> Girl is going to have some major explaining to do that Sunday....


	8. Worst Version of a Shakespeare Lover

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No one needs to know how many times I rewrote this chapter this last month and a half. Just be happy with the out come.
> 
> Originally this chapter was longer, but I decided to divide it. You'll thank me later.
> 
> Typos will be fixed later! Enjoy!

Rey realized her mistake two seconds after Ben dropped her off.

_Shit._ _Shit._ _Shit. Shit. Shit._ _Shit. Shit._

Caught in the heat of the moment, her mushy-gushy feelings for Ben rising like a tidal wave, Rey agreed to have brunch with him.

On the very same day and place she planned to have brunch with Dr. Leia Organa.

Her professor.

His mother.

How unbelievably stupid could she be?

She literally forgot all other obligations if it meant she could lift up Ben’s spirits. Damn—what did that say about her?

Rey never considered herself boy crazy or one to be enthralled with a man. To be frank, she didn’t let her mind linger on potential romances, _ever_. Not that she didn’t fancy herself a boyfriend; she did, but she didn’t moon over men.

That is until Ben, of course.

“Shit—no, no, no! Don’t jump to the worst conclusion,” Rey scolded to herself as she took each harrowing step up to her floor. At registration, single dorm living sounded wonderful…until she discover all the single rooms were located on the fifth floor of _Theta’s_ residence hall; one without possession of an elevator. “Think logically, Rey—logically,” her reminder did little to soothe her, panic swelling in Rey as she came closer and closer to her dorm. “I can cancel on one—”

She stopped herself before she could entertain the thought any longer.

For months she’d been hoping to have a chance to get to know Dr. Organa, get a priceless letter of recommendation and maybe— _just maybe_ —be considered more than a simple student and employee, to be known as a person.

Then there was the Ben debacle which threw a sour light upon all of her little wishes and plans with Dr. Organa. Because Rey could never say ‘no’ to Ben; whether he knew it or not, she was wrapped around his pinky finger and locked there since he gave her his stupid little boyish smile and proceeded to rant about _The Godfather_ and Shakespeare.

Spending time with Ben was always worth the trouble. Not to mention, he needed a friend. She could be that friend; to comfort him, to be an ear to listen, to bring back that soft, thoughtful smile of his and the feel the warmth of his zucchini bread brown eyes.

She could do that. She wanted to be that person for him.

“I can keep both brunches,” Rey reasoned as she opened the door to her floor. “Both can happen.” The idea sounded as impossible as it did in her mind. “I can meet with Leia at nine and then meet with Ben at eleven, then all will be well—”

Her phone buzzed in her jacket pocket.

** Ben **

**So I sent a message to Mando and he said he’ll**

**have our favorite spot saved for when we go in**

**Sunday morning. Does 9AM work for you?**

God, why did Ben have to be so diligent?

**_ Rey _ **

**_Yeah, 9AM is perfect._ **

****

****

And god, why was she so spineless? She was never like this until him.

“This is fine,” she muttered under her breath, picking up her pace as she came closer to her dorm. “This is totally fine. I can see if Dr. Organa can do a lunch. A hard lunch…that can work.”

She could fix this; she could absolutely fix this.

**_ Rey _ **

**_Hello Dr. Organa, sorry for the late text,_ **

**_but does lunch work better for you on Sunday?_ **

****

**_ Rey _ **

**_Oh, and this is Rey Johnson by the way._ **

**_Your TA._ **

**_Thanks._ **

****

Rey sent the texts before she could second guess herself and obsess over how she phrased her question. Dr. Organa probably wouldn’t even see the message until the morning and not both to get back to her until midday. The problem was already out of sight, out of mind. There was nothing Rey could do, but wait.

And even then…

Everything would be fine.

Absolutely fine…

…And not burst into a pit of flames the moment Rey screwed up. Nope, nope, nope. Not at all.

She wasn’t screwing up.

_She wasn’t._

But what if things went wrong—that somehow Ben and his mother saw each other in passing? Connected the dots? Realized Rey had plans with both of them and had an explosive confrontation?

Ben was upset; tears running down his face, broken down brand of distraught. He wanted his mother. The image of his soft, brown eyes and tender face weeping would be etched into her mind for eternity. His inner child was hurt, begging for love and comfort.

He wanted his mother. His mother was all he had left. Rey knew he had close family friends who were like family, Kenobi to name one, and an Uncle somewhere out in the world whom he struggled to keep civil contact with over the years.

But losing a parent was different. Especially one Ben seemed to admire more than other. Not that he gushed about his parents, the complete opposite, really. Criticized them, ranted once about their neglect and workaholic tendencies.

Yet when he spoke of Han, there was a fondness and mirth woven into the memories, no matter how painfully they may have been. His childlike love for his father showed his lacking attachment to his mother. Perhaps the only connection Ben and Dr. Organa possessed was Han Solo—their love and frustration for the man the common ground in their bond.

Based off the little information she knew and basic observation of both parties, Dr. Organa was obviously avoiding her son due to her grief and used her work as escape. Or rather, an excuse.

Her husband’s death was sudden, not anticipated in the slightest. That would tilt anyone’s world, Dr. Organa not exception.

Mixed together, grief and confusion—a lack of acceptance—made people do weird and isolating things; Rey knew from her limited experience concerning her own parents.

However, that didn’t mean mother and son should avoid each other. They could grieve together. Get some closure. End this cold distance anyone who came into their sphere felt and could not help to question.

Maybe…maybe it wouldn’t be so bad if Ben and his mother’s paths crossed?

Maybe they could finally address the conflict amongst them?

Maybe Rey could help. Bridge the gap in the little family—

“Rey!”

She stilled a few paces away from her dorm room, the hand holding her phone clenching. Snapping her eyes shut, she willed that he wasn’t in the building, that he didn’t follow after her for some absurd reason.

Because there were people around, in their dorms, minding their own business.

Well…she assumed so. It was a Wednesday and she was up in the single dormitories where the student population was low and a few professors opted to have on-campus housing and stayed in the apartment style studios on the opposite end of the corridor.

So it wasn’t too odd he was around her building… _right_?

“Rey,” Ben called again, almost out of breath. He had thrown on a dark hoodie, the material bulky enough to obscure his body and blend in as any other exhausted student roaming the halls. “You uh—you forgot this.”

Held out in his hand was her cell phone charger. Perfectly coiled and tied together. Beaten from wear and tear, but somehow looking newer in his hands “Oh.” She blinked down at the wire, brows furrowing. Reaching to the side pocket of her messenger bag, she felt the zipper pulled down. A pitiful groan emerged from her. “I left it open. I guess it must have fallen out in the car.”

“Yeah,” he muttered, shoulders a little hunched. The charger remained held out between them “I saw it on the car floor after I sent the text and drove back here to drop it off.”

Rey refrained from taking the charger, still befuddled by Ben’s presence. On her floor. In her hall. Where he could be seen if he decided to be lame and accidently knock over his hood.

“You didn’t have to do that.”

“It’s your phone charger,” Ben said plainly, if not a bit defensive. “You only have one.”

“And how do you know I only have one?”

“You’ve complained on multiple occasions you only have one,” he reminded her, a half snort punctuating his sentence. “I figured you’d need it.”

“I suppose I do,” she grasped the charger. “But not enough for you…”

Her words fell short, eyes darting around the hall.

Empty. No sigh of life. No music. No doors opening and closing.

Just them. Him and her. In a space where the lines needed to obvious and not blurred.

A tired sigh escaped him. “It’s just a charger, Rey. No one is going to say anything about that.” His voice was low and gentle, more concerned with her and her reaction than their surroundings.

“I know, I just—” She chewed the inside of her cheek, searching for the right answer. One that would make sense. But she couldn’t find one. After all a charger was just a charger, and there was no hidden meaning in the gesture. He wasn’t chasing after her to declare love, or confess bottled up feelings. He was just being Ben; nice and well-meaning, looking out for her even when he didn’t need too. Even when she was entertaining the idea of forcing him— _god what was wrong with her_ —to confront his mother in what could easily be considered a sneak attack. “No you’re right. It’s just a charger, not—not anything else. Not that it could be anything else.”

A far too long silence passed for her liking before—

“…Yeah.” Ben nodded once, then twice. Then a couple of more times, near resembling an awry bobble head on the search of stability. “Just…dropping that off.”

Neither moved, Ben’s eyes locked on the cell phone charger, caught in the tangles of his mind.

“Ben, are you—”

“This isn’t going to end is it?” He asked instead, for once direct and meeting her stare.

Rey’s mouth moved, attempting to form a cohesive question, but all she could do was let her unfiltered thoughts enter the world. “What are you talking about?”

“This,” he gestured vaguely between them, quieter than before, “because I care about you. This isn’t just a ‘fall semester’ relation— _friendship_ ,” he corrected, mouth tight lip and eyes flinching at his mistake for half a second.

But his slip up was heard loud and clear for her all too eager, longing ears.

“Where is this coming from?”

She swore they’d already had their heart to heart for the day. They didn’t need more than one; that’s emotional overload, _right_? He must have been riding on the high of comfort, _right_? They weren’t really skirting around the question in the middle of her residence hall, _right_?

“You forgot your charger,” he started, lips chewed between his teeth as he struggled to surmount the ability to speak his mind—a first for him, “and—and I just turned right back around to bring it to you. I was already in my parking spot back at my apartment, had been for a while, and I turned back around without a second thought.”

“Your point?”

“You could have been anywhere—anywhere you can imagine—and I’d bring that neon green charger to you.” A tension piled high on his shoulders, frustration marring his long features. His eyes closed, a heavy exhale rattling through his body before his eyes latched back to her, more determined than ever. “Because—because you need that charger, even though it is on its last leg and you have to jiggle it a few times to get it to work.”

“Well, yeah,” she shrugged, a strange mix of embarrassment stirring in her gut. “I don’t see the point of getting a new charger when it can work fine with a little love and care.”

A huff fumed from Ben, a shaky hand dashing through his hair. “The charger is not the point, Rey.” He blinked hard, swallowing air and pursing his lips. Annoyance radiated off of him, all energy redirected inwards as he wrestled with words. Language and poetry were meant to be his strengths; he adored the greats of Shakespeare, yet she witnessed a man at a loss begging for a life line. “The charger and our conversation an—and _seeing_ you here, right now, made me realize—”

A broken croak ended the sentence, his mouth open, the words he wanted to say not materializing.

But his eyes said all the poetry and prose he desire to bring forth.

Yearning, devotion, fear, adoration. More than she could define in the span of _one-two-three_ seconds.

So Rey decided to save him.

“I know.”

His brow softened. Jaw slacked in a gradual release.

Apparently, that was not the answer he was expecting.

“You do?”

“I think I do,” she answered, her breath caught somewhere between the back of her throat and the bottom of her tongue. “And I know you can’t say it because…”

“Yeah.” He nodded, swallowing.

Their eyes glanced around the hall.

Empty. Just him and her. Alone.

“But that doesn’t make it any less true.” Her rare spike of courage could hold them both; at least for now. He couldn’t take that step of saying how he felt with full freedom. Time needed to pass; time needed patience.

His next words were careful and measured, awaiting a true and honest answer.

“Can you wait?”

Her hand reached for his and for moment they were joined.

“Of course.”

~*~

Ben knew he was foolish. To believe he was otherwise was plain arrogance.

Standing before Rey with his heart bleeding—metaphorically—out of his chest only further proved the theory Ben Solo was a fool.

Because this wasn’t how it was supposed to happen.

He never planned to say anything. Nothing. Not once. Keep his emotions close to his chest. Maybe die with the information, let Rey live on without knowing. If he told her how he truly felt, articulate his never ending sea of adoration and fascination of her, then his world would change course.

Yes—such thoughts may seem melodramatic, but confessing to her was not to be taken lightly.

All he could think on the drive to Rey’s door, to and back, was— _Han would have liked Rey._

_HanwouldhavelikedReyHanwouldhavelikedReyHanwouldhavelikedRey._

His father would take one look at Rey and he’d decided she belonged to the Solos forever.

His father would take one look at him and he’d know his son was head-over-heels in love with the girl.

He’d tease, he’d joke, he’d make absurd scenarios about Ben and Rey having ‘a moment.’ Ben would get annoyed, tell his father to shut up. Tell him he was being ridiculous; tell him how he was just ‘seeing things, there was nothing between him and Rey except friendship’.

But then he’d soften, be a flash of seriousness Han Solo often acted above, and tell Ben to not lose her. To not wait. To not be an idiot for once in his life. Did not matter if he’d be taking a risk, someone like Rey was worth it.

Han Solo would have knocked sense into Ben if it were the last thing he’d do.

That’s how Ben found himself climbing four flights of stairs, smothered into an old hoodie in need of long overdue wash, and praying to every god in existence he did not run into anybody he knew.

He was putting himself in jeopardy—on the surface he was a professor and she was a student. He knew it was wrong to do anything about his feelings now, but he wasn’t too sure he could go on another day, another week, another month, without expressing his intentions.

A stranger pressure lingered in his chest at the thought. A knot tied to the center of his chest, pulling and tugging, reminding him he wasn’t alone—that he didn’t have to be alone—and she was there. And he wanted to be with her.

Ben Solo became his own worst version of a Shakespeare lover.

Caught between right and wrong. Desperate longing and ill-patience. Finding a way to get what he wanted, even if it meant toeing the lines and jumping through hops.

He hated Romeo in _Romeo & Juliet_—found him to be ridiculous, too stubborn, too reckless, and too passionate— but…he understood him a tad better than he did prior to meeting Rey.

Gibberish fumbled out of his mouth as he tried—dear god, did he try—to eloquently put how he felt for her. To explain _why_ he couldn’t properly explain and declare how he felt. How it wasn’t just because she was brilliant and easy to talk to, but because of the little things. How she dedicated her time. How she could be witty and sarcastic one moment and incredibly serious and gentle the next. Her absurd sense of humor and need to make her point and land her joke even it was already ruined halfway through.

Tongue tied words somehow conveyed his meaning, she understanding before he could utter the phrase.

“I know.”

IknowIknowIknowIknowIknowIknowIknowIknow.

Her sure response rattled him to his core.

She knew and he didn’t need to say a word, an unspoken connection and comprehension spanning the space between them. A bond neither knew they made in the short timeline of their relationship, but one strong and resilient nevertheless.

“Can you wait?”

Her hand reached for his and for moment they were joined. 

He threaded their fingers, giving her a light squeeze. A quiet prayer for a hopeful answer.

“Of course.”

Stepping up to him, Rey leaned forward.

Thrumming stormed through his ears— _thudthudthudthudthud_. He’d drown in this moment, forever lost in the sound of her halted breath and his undying heart.

Warm, tentative lips pressed against his cheek.

His eyes closed, keeping the moment locked in his memory.

Soon her lips were gone and she was a step, then another, away.

She dropped his hand, but a small, buzzing smile invaded her from the inside out.

“Go before someone sees you. I’ll call you tomorrow.”

Turning away, she ducked into her dorm. Closing the door, she gave a wave, her smile still intact.

A solid minute must have passed when he finally came to his senses and left.

Despite taking the four flights of stairs in the middle of the night and a stack of grading waiting for him back at home, Ben felt more alive than he’d ever been in his life.

~*~

** Dr. Organa  **

**Lunch is fine.**

**See you then.**

**~*~**

****

** Dr. Organa (!) **

**Actually, I double checked my schedule.**

**Brunch works better.**

**I’ll be at Bounty Hunter Brew around 10AM on Sunday.**

****

**_(!) Message Failed to Send_ **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> UH OH.
> 
> This...will not go well.
> 
> I hope to go back to regular-ish updates for this fic soon. Life has been a little wild this last month so I apologize.


	9. An Act Three Scene

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nothing goes as planned.  
> Naturally.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a long chapter.
> 
> Warning: ANGST IS AFOOT.
> 
> Typos will be fixed later. Enjoy!

Rey wasn’t a dancer.

Nor did she hum along to music

Or was someone who sang terribly offkey to oldies, i.e. _Do You Believe in Magic?_ by The Lovin’ Spoonful.

But since her alarm went off at 6:30AM she hadn’t been able to tamper down the airy bubble locked in her chest. Nor could she freeze the warm buzz tingling from the tips of her fingers, up her arms, and down the length of her legs to her toes.

With a hop to her step, she set out to get ready for the day because it was _the_ _day_.

Sure it was just a brunch, not an official date. Not an official anything. Just two unlikely friends having some coffee and pastries together in a moderate morning hour.

For Rey, however, there was a magical air to the morning. As though her world was a thread and she finally found an another end to connect to in the little tapestry called life.

Because Ben loved her.

And she knew.

So this brunch wasn’t a simple brunch in the slightest. This would be the first time they’d be out together knowing how the other felt. The first of hopefully many brunches and meals together as a hinted ‘more than friends.’ A connection like theirs wasn’t to be taken lightly—there were risks, there were concerns. Patience was of the essence.

Rey could wait. She was sure of it.

But that didn’t mean having brunch with Ben on a Sunday morning needed to be a cold affair, nor mechanical.

She could look nice. Put on a little bit of make-up. Let her hair down from it’s usual set of buns.

She could smell nice. Finally use that almond blossom fragrance mist she received from a Secret Santa ages ago.

She could make herself appear more put together than her oversized t-shirts and sweaters. Maybe wear that black and daisy patterned dress she had tucked into the back of her closet, gathering dust since she bought it after a performance of peer-pressure on Rose’s part _—“Every woman needs at least one decent dress they can dress up or dress down for any occasion. Plus, it would be a great date dress—If you’d let me set you up!”_

Rey could pretend their brunch was a date even when it wasn’t because…maybe it sort of was (Maybe? Yes? No? She wasn’t too sure and neither was Ben.) and they didn’t want to acknowledge it to not disturb their own anxieties on the matter.

Carefully, she began pulling her hair into a half up-half down style, Rey could not stand the thought of her hair flopping in her face mid-bite of a strudel—Ben would chuckle, she’d get beet red, and feel like flubber in the wake of embarrassment.

The goal for the day was to achieve the bare minimum of embarrassment.

Singing under her breath, she twisted and tied her hair behind her head. Initially, she tried her best to follow a tutorial on YouTube, but struggled to get the simple braid to lay flat. Annoyed, she decided to go for something basic and tuck away any stubborn and straggling hairs with a bobby pin.

Once she got a flyaway to lay flat, Rey gave herself once over in the mirror. Hair was in place and her dress was modest enough to not make feel like she was a fish out of water, or a little girl dressed in a woman’s clothes. Her jacket and scarf helped, the layers a silent guardian of warmth and confidence.

Staring at herself in the slim hang-over-the-door mirror, Rey felt her anxieties and joys dwindle from an uncontainable bursts of energy to a stable, assured felicity.

Because this was Ben.

No one new. No one to fear or fret over.

No, he was someone who loved her.

Her eyes gravitated away from her reflection to small cluster of bouquets on her desk, peeking hello in the corner of the mirror.

Three daisy bouquets.

A simple dozen wrapped in brown butcher paper and tied together in twine.

One for each day leading up to their brunch.

She didn’t have a vase or tall glass to put them in, only a few short mason jars she used for her overnight oats. Flowers were trimmed and place in little hideaways in her dorm, her eyes always catching a glimpse of his daisies from any corner of the room.

A subtle reminder of him.

An alarm blared from her phone; just half past eight.

Grabbing her phone and purse, she began to head towards the door—

Yet she stopped.

Turing to her nightstand, Rey plucked a daisy from the jar by her door and tucked it behind her ear.

Sparing a glance to the mirror, she nodded once.

“Perfect.”

'

**~*~**

He wanted to pick her up.

But she refused.

“ _I think it might be better if I just got a Lyft_ ,” she explained over the phone the previous day, hoping her voice didn’t trill up, “ _We need to be careful_.”

Ben was already sitting when she got there.

Fidgeting, sipping on a black coffee. One hand thrummed insistently on the steel table top. His dull colored tweed and wrinkled pull-over sweaters were gone and replaced with a pressed, light blue button up and navy cardigan. Casual and simple, yet put together. Far more put together than the messy, frazzled man she knew.

“Hey.”

“You’re here!”

One foot ungraceful after the other, Ben stumbled out from his chair. Limps usually strong and sure in the space of the world were too large and long to fit properly in the inconspicuous corner table. An equivalent to a bumbling fool—or perhaps he was all too nervous yet eager. Just like her.

A trickle of relief ran through Rey. She wasn’t alone.

“I was expecting you to come from the other way.” He motioned to the opposite entrance off the south end of the corner building.

Rey noted this to be where she usually entered, the crossroads from her GPS app on south end of Chandrila’s Hanna Square. It never occurred to her Ben noticed those things—or that anyone noticed those little details of her habits.

“The Lyft driver dropped me off further down the street because of the morning traffic—”

“Right, right,” Ben uttered. He was more so filling the air than anything else, a nervous tick Rey happened to be grateful for as she did not know what else to say.

She’d been waiting for this brunch—this moment—all week, yet she felt all her words cease. All the expectations she concocted in her mind dissipated away.

For a moment—an agonizing, stomach dropping moment where she questioned every single decision she made leading up to seeing him in the flesh again—she and Ben stared at each other, unsure of what move to make next.

Eyes latched on to his warm zucchini bread eyes, _it_ hit her.

“Where are your glasses?”

“Oh—uh.” A bashful hand ran through his dark, possibly freshly cut, hair. She was positive his hair was a tad longer the last time she saw him. “I’m wearing contacts.”

She blinked, brain hitting a broken fuse. “Why?”

“Because…” A dash of red bloomed on the tips of his ears. A resigned sigh escaped him, the massive man before her becoming smaller. Shoulders lower, lips pinched together in an embarrassed bite. “Because you’ve always seen me with glasses and I thought…” He shrugged. “…why not?”

“Oh.” Rey exhaled, heat crawling up her necks. “That—that makes sense.” She nodded hurriedly, hoping to not be as awkward as she felt. “I like you with both.” She blurted out without second thought. “Both—glasses and without. But your glasses make your zuch—”

She swallowed back the word— _abort, abort, abort_!

His brows furrowed, noticing her surge of panic.

Ben could never know what she called her eyes. Never. She’d never be able to live it down if he did.

“My wh—”

“Your glasses make you look smarter!” Her words ran full speed ahead, out of her mouth faster than her mind could comprehend and scream for her to ‘ _fucking stop talking or else—_ ’ “Not that I believe everyone who wears glasses are smarter or look smarter. That is a terrible stereotype because it simply isn’t true. Just because you have shitty vision doesn’t mean you get blessed brains. Life and genetics don’t work like that.” Hearing herself, Rey’s eyes widened at the implications she made. Her spike of dread forced her to fix the situation, words tripping over each other. “Not that you are dumb! Or unintelligent! You are brilliant, possibly the most brilliant man I know—not that I know many men of your stature. And by stature I mean…I don’t mean height, I mean of your age and…uh, your accomplishments.”

Snapping her mouth shut, Rey continued to nod. Nodding always smoothed over catastrophic word vomit, right?

Across from her, Ben’s face scrunched in thought, attempting to follow her ramble in earnest. “Uh…yeah. Okay, yeah. Thank you, I guess.” A small chuckle came from him, along with a shy smile. “You changed your hair. I’ve never seen it down.”

Her hand went to her shoulder, touching the loosely curled strands, as if she forgot she even had hair in the first place.

To be honest, Rey didn’t think he’d notice. But if Ben was proving anything in the last few minutes, he was proving his observance, especially of her.

“Yeah. I don’t normally wear it down—it gets everywhere and is annoying,” she confessed, not entirely fond of her dull, brown hair. Long, heavy, strands constantly falling in her face. Part of her wanted to chop it all off, but she never did. Afterall, she’d always had long hair, she didn’t know herself any other way. “But I thought—‘why not’?”

His lopsided smile grew at the phrase, yet still closed mouth.

“So, are you two just going to stand there all day, or are you going to order something?”

Rey’s attention snapped to Jannah, a pot of coffee held in one hand and the other holding an empty cup and saucer. Realizing she caught their attention, the barista moved past the two and refilled Ben’s cup.

“Don’t get me wrong, staring can be hot, but it’s nine-fifteen and I don’t think anyone wants to see you two staring at each other like _that_ this early in the morning.” She set down the second cup in front of what would be Rey’s seat, pouring coffee with the finesse of a long time employee. “Plus Mando said he’d kick you out if you don’t get on with your date—”

“It’s not a date,” Ben corrected.

His words stung, leaving a lingering pang in her.

Rey chewed hard on the inside of her cheek.

“It’s a brunch,” she said. “Just a brunch.”

“Right…” Jannah drawled out. “And I’m the Queen of England.” Stepping back, she glanced between the two, a sense of pity in her eyes. “Well make do diligence to order for your ‘brunch.’” She threw finger air quotes around the word before making her way back to the pick-up counter.

Ben glanced back at Rey. “I just ordered myself coffee while I was waiting. I didn’t want to order without knowing what you wanted.”

“How long were you waiting?”

“A few minutes.” He shrugged, ducking his head down. “Doesn’t matter.” He shook his head, the red on his ears returning in a flash. “Do you want anything in particular? Coffee, pastries, tea…”

“Um, I think I’m good with the black,” she motioned to her cup, “but I am down to have any pastries. You can surprise me, I’m not too picky when it comes to food.”

“Okay. Then I’ll be back in a little bit.” He nodded to her, avoiding eye contact and left for the small, growing line at the front counter.

Finding herself alone, Rey sat down in the open seat across from Ben’s. A pink stack of used _Sweet N’ Lows_ laid beside his cup, his spoon resting on top. Coffee slowly dried on the curve of the utensil, telling Rey her ‘not date’ had been waiting for more than just a ‘few minutes.’

A headcover copy of _Much Ado About Nothing_ was tucked to the side of the table, a leather bookmark peeking from between the pages.

Of course he’d have a leather bookmark. Classy, clean, and timeless.

Picking her forgotten daisy out of her hair, she tucked the dying flower into the back of the book, pressing it down.

Maybe she was being a little too hopeful about how things would go that morning. Better to put all expectations to rest before she became too discouraged.

Sighing, Rey grabbed a half-and-half from the little porcelain bowl at the edge of the table. She pour two little creamers into her cup, eyes darting between her coffee and the drizzle emerging from the dark clouds hanging above outside.

A flash of lightening crossed the sky.

A tingle from the door echoed in the coffeeshop.

Rey glanced to the door, right in her line of vision—

And there Dr. Leia Organa stood.

_Shit._

Shaking out her umbrella and coat.

_Shit_.

Making her way over to Rey.

_Shit_.

Only to stop and get in line.

Right behind her son.

_Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit._

“Goddamn, lighting smite me,” Rey whimpered into her cup, sinking down in her chair. Her eyes could not look away from the impending trainwreck of mother and son seeing each other.

Lightening flashed across the sky, as though hearing her prayer.

All the lights in Bounty Hunter Brew went out.

**~*~**

“Are you effing kidding me?” Jannah groaned from behind the register, the electricity going out. “I hate this block in the winter.” She glanced up at Ben, shaking her head. “Stay here, I need to get Mando. We have security cameras, so do not try any funny or illegal crap, got it?”

“Got it,” Ben assured her, attempting to hide his own annoyance on the matter. “No funny business.”

No need to correct Jannah on the fact the cameras would not work with the power out.

She nodded, smirking. “You’re an okay man, Solo.”

With that, Jannah hurried off to the back room, just out of an earshot of him and the few lingering customers.

Most people in the coffeeshop, all six of them to be exact, seemed unbothered by the turn of events. Possibly regulars by the look of their comfortability in the space.

Well, all except one.

“Are you going to continue to ignore me, or are you going to greet your mother?”

“Didn’t know you even knew this place existed,” he muttered, shifting to the side to spare a glance at _the_ Leia Organa. His mother, or better yet the bane of his existence if he wanted to be melodramatic about his poor relationship with her. “Thought you’d be uptown somewhere, drinking overpriced espresso that isn’t even good.”

“Mando and I go back,” his mother answered without missing a beat. “He’s a friend.”

“You have friends?” His eyebrows jumped, staring down at the woman, hating how he felt an urge to please her with his quips. “I thought you consider everyone in your life a colleague or rather someone to use for your own gain. If they have no use to you, you just discard them.”

The ‘ _like him’_ went unsaid. She knew—she had to have known, there was no way she didn’t—that he was talking about how she spared little time for him. Not just in his childhood, but in his adulthood and every other milestone and event in his life.

Leia seemed undaunted by his remark. Naturally so; nothing, not even her own son pointing out her great tragic flaws, could oppress the strong-willed woman.

“Ben,” she began, standing tall and attempting an demeanor of an understanding and patient mother, “if this is about cancelling lunch—”

“I am not going to talk to you about this,” he mumbled, feeling the back of this throat constrict. Talking about it meant bringing up age-old wounds and anger, and he didn’t want to part-take. “I’m not like you who can bottle up their emotions and hold it all in until they die. I have to talk to someone—”

An aggravated sigh rattled through her, Ben feeling like a child again in her presence. “You’ve always been overly emotional, son. I cannot handle you—”

“Grieving?” he supplied readily. All the words he’d been dying to tell her the last few months finally found their way into the open world. To her. “Grieving is life long, you’d know that if you actually did it and faced it head on instead of burying yourself in work.”

“I’m know how grieving works Benjamin,” she replied, brittle. Her stare dared him to make another comment, to twist the jab just a little deeper. “I’ve done plenty of grieving in my life, but you go on an entirely different level. To the point it reminds me of my own father and—” She swallowed, shaking her head once. “Everyone grieves differently, Ben.” Her shoulders dropped helplessly, not in the mood for an argument. “And I wanted to be alone this year—”

“Well I didn’t,” he hissed back. A sting behind his eyes warned him of tears, but Ben pushed them away.

He didn’t want to cry in front of Rey again, even though he knew it was bound to happen at some point that day. He just didn’t want to dive into the waterworks so early the morning, not when he wanted to spend the day with her and be _happy_.

God, he just wanted the day to be a happy day.

“I didn’t and I don’t want to be alone on Dad’s anniversary,” Ben explained low and measured, praying for his voice to not crack like a prepubescent boy. If that happened, then he’d really feel like time had reverted back a couple of decades. “That’s why I wanted to have lunch with you, so we could just focus on the happy moments, and not…not be sad and alone.”

“Like I said, everyone grieves differently, Benjamin. You and I just don’t grieve the same.” Her voice was thick, reserved, and not tolerating him. A voice all too familiar to him, one he heard when his parents separated. A voice he heard when his mother and father decided to send him to boarding school. A voice that reminded him that his mother didn’t understand him, probably never would if she never tried. “If you feel this strongly about everything, then maybe you should talk to a professional—”

“I’m fine—”

“Or make friends,” she added, a hurriedness to her words. “I ask some of the English profs if you have made an effort to hang out. I even ask some of the theatre profs—”

Petulant anger ran through him. Leave it to his mother to stick herself into his work life and try to manage him in the background, like he was still her temperamental teenager who needed guidance. “I’m an adult, mother! I don’t need you going around and asking my colleagues if I am playing nice and making friends at work.”

“I’m just worried you’ll bottle yourself up. They all say you stay at work the latest and are there the earliest and I just don’t want this to become your life, Ben.”

He bristled at her judgement. “I love my job.”

“There is nothing wrong with loving your job,” Leia amended, “honestly there isn’t. But you cannot let your life become your job and your grief, son. You need to get out there and have friends, maybe meet someone—”

“I’m fine—”

“You cannot be like me, son.”

Ben didn’t know what to say, stunned by the comparison.

Above them, the lights flickered on.

“Hell, yes!” Jannah came rushing back over to the register. “Sorry about that mates! We got the power back on and we can coffee on!”

A series of groans sounded from the customers in the shop.

A cringed marred over her face. “O-K, not using that joke again.” She grinned to Ben. “What can I get for you and your little lady, Solo?”

He glanced over to where Rey sat—she looked out the window, cup of coffee tucked close to her. She seemed to not even be aware of what had transpired between him and his mother.

A sigh fell from his lips, knowing it best to not correct Jannah no matter how much he wanted the tease to be true. “I’ll get—”

“You’re here with Rey?” Leia’s voice sliced through his order.

Ben chewed on his bottom lip considering his answer. “Yes—she’s a friend.”

“She’s your student.”

“She’s a friend,” he stressed.

“I’m going to go say ‘hello’.”

“Please don’t—” But his mother was already gone, making her way over to Rey.

“Fuck me,” he grumbled under his breath.

“Thanks for the offer, but I’m into women,” Jannah said, cheeky.

Ben rolled his eyes good naturedly. “I know Jannah. You told me all about your ex when I was grading finals last year.” Eyeing the menu, he knew the best way to get forget about his mother and the fact she was talking to Rey at that very moment was to just eat his feelings away. “I’ll start with two bearclaws…”

**~*~**

“What the hell are you doing?”

Rey looked up from her coffee to find Dr. Organa standing at the end of the table. Dr. Organa looked as professional outside of the office as she did inside; hair perfectly placed and make-up unsmeared despite the rain pelting down outside.

“Hello Dr. Organa,” Rey began, beating down the quiver attempting to build in the back of her throat. “Not to be rude, but what are you doing here?”

“What am I doing here?” Dr. Organa echoed back. “What are you doing here? With my son no less.”

“He and I—”

“Let me rephrase,” Dr. Organa leaned forward, dark eyes latching on to Rey like talons, “why are you here with my son on a date?”

“This is not a date.”

Dr. Organa didn’t seem to buy the blunt correction, humming as she feigned thought. Her eyes roved around Rey and the table, clearly looking on where to point out the flaw in the excuse. “I’ve never seen you wear a dress in all four years I’ve known you.”

“I wanted to wear a dress,” Rey defended. Her small shrug did little to convince Leia, the woman choosing to sit down in Ben’s vacated seat.

“In the rain? The Rey I know is far too practical to do that.”

Rey bit back a scathing remark. She never thought Dr. Organa paid any mind to her. After all, she was just the little assistant, completing grade books and proof reading.

“It doesn’t matter.”

“It matters when you are a professor’s student and that professor happens to be my son.”

“Dr. Organa, it is not like that—”

“Then what is it like, Rey?” She tsked, shaking her head. “Or better yet why are you meeting my son and I on the same day at the same time?” A flash of anger shined in her eyes, challenged and appalled by the dots her mind seemed to connect. “Did he put you up to this?”

“What? No, no. Of course not.” Rey sputtered, her back ramrod straight at the accusation. “You are the one who showed up early,” she pointed out. “We agreed on a lunch meeting.”

“And I texted you back saying the morning would be better.”

Rey frowned, befuddled by Dr. Organa’s insistence. “No, you didn’t.”

“Yes, I did.” Dr. Organa reached for her phone. With an annoyed low grunt, she put on her reading glasses, the bifocals hanging around her neck on a blue, beaded chain. Squinting at the screen, she unlocked her phone and scrolled. “Here.”

Lips taut into a stubborn line, Dr. Organa presented her phone to Rey.

** Dr. Organa (!) **

**Actually, I double checked my schedule.**

**Brunch works better.**

**I’ll be at Bounty Hunter Brew around 10AM on Sunday.**

****

**_(!) Message Failed to Send_ **

Staring at the far too bright SAMSUNG Galaxy screen, Rey wasn’t too sure how to address the matter at hand.

Mostly because it was Leia’s fault she arrived early and became witness to the…not date. And Rey didn’t like the thought of lecturing her superior and mentor on the bygones and annoyances of technology.

Especially failure icons.

“Leia—” Dr. Organa raised an eyebrow at the lack of formality “—I mean, Dr. Organa, I hate to tell you this but…the message never sent.”

“Excuse me?” Dr. Organa uttered. She turned the phone back to her, squinting at the message. “I wrote it and sent it. I don’t understand how…”

“The little exclamation point next to the message.” Rey held her hand out for the phone. Dr. Organa passed it over, allowing Rey to tap the icon beside the message. “If you tap it, it tells you the message failed to send.”

Dr. Organa muttered incomprehensible words under her breath. “My god…”

“I mean it can happen to anyone. Cell service has been spotty with this never ending autumn rain.”

“Don’t try and make excuses for me,” Dr. Organa muttered, a sharpness to her. “It’s my fault I didn’t bother to check—”

A shred of relief filled Rey. “Oh, okay.”

“But that doesn’t mean I am still not bothered by this situation.” Dr. Organa peered over her glasses, a small glare in her wilting stare. “You do realize he can get fired for having a relationship with a student.”

Hating herself for technically lying, Rey told Leia the vague truth. “He and I are not romantically involved.”

“Doesn’t matter if it is true or not,” Dr. Organa waved off, her stubbornness unmoving, “it takes one person to file a complaint, to make a claim, and he won’t have a job anymore. Hell, he won’t have a career.” Weariness hung upon Leia like an old friend, all to comfortable on the woman’s shoulders. Yet she sat taller than before, commanded the table in an instant, and reminded Rey she was a woman to be reckoned with. “Ben’s life is teaching Shakespeare. It’s his first and everlasting love. I worked my ass off to get him approved for this position, and I’m not going to let some student,” Leia winced, pain entrapped in her at the term, “a smart, pretty student who might be one of the best _I’ve_ ever had and probably the best _he_ ever had, ruin it for him. I cannot allow it.”

A lump formed in the back of Rey’s throat.

She swallowed.

Tight, painful, and broken.

Because maybe Ben was wrong.

Leia loved her son. More than she let on.

She was just terrible at showing it.

Terrible at saying the right words at the right time.

Terrible at showing up when it mattered.

Terrible in many ways, but she cared and she protected.

Rey never had that.

“I—” Her voice cracked, but Rey pushed through. “I can assure you, it’s not like that. At all.” She sniffed, reigning in her emotions. She had to keep it together, at least for a few more moments. “I…I might have a school girl crush.” She blinked, a few tears escaping, but she caught them with the back of her hand. “But it’s on my end. Never his. He does not like me. Like that at least.” Clearing her throat, Rey nodded once, hoping Dr. Organa believed her. “I’m just here because he needs a friend and his mother won’t have lunch with him despite it being the anniversary of his father’s death.”

Dr. Organa’s eyes slammed shut. A shadow of dreadful shame cast down on her.

“He told you.”

“I know a lot about your son.”

“That comforts me. A little.” Dr. Organa shrugged. “He needs friends.” She sighed, her gaze drifting to the window.

Both watched as people rushed to-and-fro, finding shelter from the pouring skies.

“But not you.”

Rey winced. “Right. Not me.”

“You’re dangerous for him,” Dr. Organa continued, hands clasped together on the table as though she were in a formal meeting. Not chatting in a coffeeshop, but discussing a business matter. “So today I’ll play nice. I’ll have brunch, act like this is merely a ‘friends’ situation, but on Wednesday I need you to turn in your last batch of grades and then we are done.”

Horror spiked through Rey at her mentor’s implications. “Leia—”

“Dr. Organa,” she corrected without missing a beat.

“Dr. Organa,” Rey amended, “please I—”

“Thought you would have said your ‘hello’s and ‘goodbye’s all in one breath, mother.”

Both women looked up to find Ben placing down a tray of pastries— strudels, muffins, and croissants to name a few. Each were on a small plate, warm, and ready to eat.

Leia gave her son a tight smile, not making any effort to leave his seat. “I decided to stay for your little get together. I feel bad about cancelling on you.”

Ben’s eyebrows shot up, but he didn’t comment on his mother’s sudden change of plans. “That’s not necessary.”

“But I want to,” she insisted. “You were right; maybe we do need to spend sometime together on your father’s anniversary. Talk about him. Perhaps have some mother-son time later on today.”

Rey chewed her lips together, feeling the wedge Leia was pushing into the date.

Because damn it—yes, it _was_ a date. One that got screwed over before it even began.

“Why did you even cancel in the first place?” Rey asked, a swell of anger for Ben emerging. She wondered over the last few days if she were the cause for mother and son to not meet, for Leia’s cancellation on Ben. But she knew that could not be the case, even though she did feel a shard of guilt on the matter. Dr. Leia Organa was her own woman with her own decisions; Rey could not make nor anticipate those.

“Sometimes the right thing is hard to do,” Leia stated plainly. Her tired brown eyes met Rey’s for a moment, before blinking away and down to Ben’s cooled down coffee cup. With a small huff, she turned in her seat, away from Rey and focused on Ben. For once in her life, _all_ focused on Ben. “I don’t always do the right thing. I know that. But I think it has came to my attention I should try even though it hurts. Like remembering your father together.”

Stunned still, Ben remained silent.

His eyes closed, a deep breathe rattled though his body. “I…I don’t know what to say.”

His mother’s eyes dimmed. Licking her lips, she nodded. “I understand.” Standing up, Leia grabbed her purse. “I think I’m going to go order myself some coffee and food. Maybe something a little more…,” her eyes darted down to the pastries, “…a little more savory. I’ve never had a sweet tooth. You get that from your father.”

She left before Ben could say anything else.

“What just happened?” He uttered, eyes wide at where his mother had just been.

“I think that was your mother’s form of an apology.”

“I think you might be right.” A half chuckle-half sigh of disbelief slipped between his lips, a glint of the boy he’d perhaps once been trailed across his face. However the joy in his expression disappeared before Rey could commit the instance to memory. “That’s never really happened before.”

Biting her lips together, Rey glanced around the table. It was just her and Ben now, but it wouldn’t be such for long. Leia would comeback in minutes and the idea of how the day would go faded into oblivion.

She was silly to assume the day would be anything more than eating and drinking coffee. So goddamn silly.

A deep rooted uncomfortableness swathed her, Rey knowing she didn’t quite belong anymore.

“I’m going to get going.”

Ben’s head shot up, he already sitting back down in his chair. “What? No. We can still—”

Smiling tightly, she shook her head. “No. Maybe another time.” A breathiness entered her voice, Ben’s intense zucchini brown eyes growing more concerned by the second. “You should spend time with your mother.”

“Rey—”

“Ben,” she said, halting his words, “it’s okay. Really. It is.”

“It doesn’t feel okay,” he shot back, eyes locking her place, “she’s probably going to leave within the next thirty minutes.”

“I don’t think she is,” Rey stood up from her chair, hurriedly tugging her jacket back on, “and maybe doing this wasn’t a great idea. Maybe we should just stick to our usual routine until…” She shrugged, waving to the air. She now understood how Ben felt the other night—not having the right words to say how she truly felt, to expresses herself adequately so she didn’t look like a miming fool to him. “Until next semester.”

“Rey—”

“Please,” she stressed, hooking her pursed over her shoulder, “I promise we can talk later. Just not now.”

Jaw locked and disappointment radiating off of him in somber waves, Ben nodded. “Okay.”

She smiled. “Thanks.”

He gave his own small smile back, but she could not help but feel the heartbreak she was causing him.

Taking a shaky breath, Rey began to make her way to the exit, already pulling her phone out to get a Lyft—

When she collided into another body.

Coffee erupted at the impact, sloshing across Rey’s dress and the ground. She wasn’t too sure how the other person faired, but she was positive the dress would be stained into eternity, Rey still struggling to find the best way to get stains out of her clothes.

“Crap, I’m so sor— _Rey_?”

Rey’s head snapped up at neck breaking speed. Her eyes widened at her fellow casualty. “Rose?”

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry,” Rose winced at Rey’s dress, “I wasn’t looking where I was going.”

“Neither was I,” Rey confessed, embarrassment creeping into her in tenfold. She and Rose hadn’t spoken to each other in weeks, neither making the effort to reach out because of their own stupid pride. Honestly, Rey wasn’t too surprised it’d take God’s forces of a collision and spilled coffee to bring them together. Reaching over to the empty table beside her, Rey looked into the napkin canister. Only to find it empty. “Damn it.” Glancing around she went looking for a linger napkin, anywhere, but the coffeeshop had began to pick up traffic as the morning waned on leaving more tables occupied than unoccupied, and not a soul was willing to necessarily help in the situation.

“Here,” came Ben’s all too familiar deep and tender voice, along with a large wad of napkins, “I saw what happened.”

Except for Ben; he came to her aid in a heartbeat like the kind person he could be. Like the kind person she knew him to be.

“Oh, uh, it’s fine.” Rey wanted to take the napkins wholeheartedly. Yet she didn’t, feeling a flush racing up and down her body at his mere presence and witness to her mishap. Not to mention there was Rose—who was staring openly at them. Just plain staring, enough to put the fear of God in Rey. “Thank you. But it’s fine.” She tucked loose strands of hair away from her face and smoothed out her dress. She was absolutely fine and not on the verge of panicking.

Absolutely not.

She wasn’t.

Not really.

Okay she kind-of-sort-of was—but not really. At least not outwardly for the world—the world being Ben, Rose, and the one elderly couple in the table nearby watching the situation with fascination—to see.

“Rey, your dress is soaked,” Ben insisted, not paying any mind to Rose, “and I’d feel terrible if you could not wear that dress again.”

“Ben—uh—Professor Solo, really it’s fine,” she muttered, deciding to just leave herself soaked in coffee than act familiar with him in front of Rose.

But Ben didn’t seem to comprehend the issue, instead staring down at her like she was losing her mind and being far too stubborn. “Rey—”

“Wait, I know that dress!” Rose sputtered, eyes widening. “I told you to buy that dress because it would be perfect for a—”

Her words ceased.

Then…

“Oh-my-god.”

Rose hit each syllable like a bell, jaw dropping.

Her eyes darted between Ben then Rey, then Ben then Rey again.

Then back again, like a never ending ping-pong match for Rose and for Rose alone.

“Are…you two here… _together_?”

Rey wanted the ground to eat her. She wanted to become invisible. She wanted to get amnesia and act like she had no idea what Rose was talking about or why the hell she was in a coffeeshop in the first place, because anything would be better than what was happening.

Bracing herself for the worst, Rey met her friend’s all too knowing and impenetrable gaze. “Rose…”

“No, no of course not,” Ben was quick to interject, scratching the back of his right ear, “I’m here with my mother.”

To further prove his point, he gestured to where his mother was sitting. Coffee and avocado toast out before her, she was already cutting into her meal.

“You’re lying,” Rose told them. Arms crossed over her coffee soaked t-shirt and rain jacket, she stared Ben down. “I’m a former student of yours—my friend and I played a game to see when you’d lie, usually when you made excuses to cancel class. You have a tell.”

Ben seemed unsure of Rose, a little startled by her blunt and matter-of-fact nature. “Excuse me—”

“You scratch your right ear almost every single time,” Rose pointed out, “like you did just then.” Ben dropped his hand down, his shoulders deflating just the slightest. Her eyes gravitated to Rey. “And I use to think Rey was a terrible liar for the most part,” her nose wrinkled, “but maybe now I am not so sure.”

Rey shuffled forward to Rose, dropping her voice lower. “Rose this isn’t what it looks like.

“Are you trying to convince me, or are you trying to convince yourself?” Rose shot back. “Because I thought you were better than this.”

His brows furrowed, confused. “Rey, what is she talking about—”

“She’s taking your class to prove a point,” Rose didn’t bother to look at Ben, her gaze on Rey—and Rey did not stop her. “She wanted to purposely fail your class to prove how shit of a professor you are; that you get enjoyment from failing intelligent students, like myself and Finn and make your class hell for your students, and get you fired.” She shook her head. “Which is stupid because she doesn’t even talk to Finn and I anymore. So maybe she is doing her own personal fulfillment, I guess? I don’t know the full details.”

Rey could feel Ben stepping away from her. She could feel the space growing between her and everyone else in lightning speed. “Rose, it’s not like that either—"

“Then what is it Rey?” Rose scoffed, frustrated with her. “If it’s not you trying to prove a point, then it’s because you have a massive crush on your Shakespeare professor to the point where it is more than a little weird—”

Rey’s eyes snapped shut, staring to feel a little woozy with the information and quite changes whirling around her. “Can you please stop—I can explain if you just let me.”

However Rose paid no heed, talking over Rey. “And isn’t it against school policy for—”

“Rose Tico, right?” Ben’s voice sliced through the young women’s clashing.

Rose snapped her mouth shut and nodded, clearly not expecting Ben to be addressing her.

“You were in my seven-thirty Shakespeare class last semester. Sat in the corner with your friend Finn. You were taking the class because it was a requirement.”

“…Yes,” Rose answered, warry of where Ben was going with his train of thought.

Ben’s mouth was screwed shut, he nodding in understanding, quietly connecting dot in his mind. Remorse shined in his eyes, he addressing Rose and she alone. “I’d like to personally apologize for my behavior.” He took a paused, waiting for Rose to say anything. She didn’t, both women waiting for him to continue. “Last semester was a rough one, I will admit. For both me and my students. I was grieving, I’d lost my father to a sudden accident back in November and I took it hard. Harder than I think I ever imagined.” He swallowed tightly. “But that doesn’t excuse my sporadic attitude during class or your final grade.”

“Yeah…” Rose said quietly, the fiery rage she possessed diminishing to a small flame. “I was mostly upset about my final grade.”

“To be completely honest, I didn’t grade your classes final essays—hell that’s not even how I assign the final essays,” Ben admitted with a sense of shame, “a colleague of mine was assisting me with my classes and grading due to my emotional state, and since she was going to read the essays, she suggested her format. And I assigned it her way.” He released a broken sigh. “I was upset with how she graded and tried to get the matter fixed, but final grades were submitted and the rest was out of my hands. I wished I fought harder to give your class your well deserved grades, but I didn’t and that is my fault.”

“Oh,” Rose uttered. “I had no idea that was going on.”

“I don’t like sharing my personal life with students,” Ben explained. His eyes—cold, distant, unforgiving—darted to Rey. “I realize now I should probably stick to that little personal policy of mine.”

Rey reached for his arm, not knowing what else to do to fix the situation—if it could even be fixed. “Ben—”

He leaned out of her reach.

“It’s Professor Solo, Miss Johnson.” He spoke towards the ground, voice low and shaking. “If you ladies will excuse me, I need some air.”

With a few brisk steps he was out the door, turning the corner, and disappeared into the haze of the street.

In any other romantic comedy or romance novel, Rey would run after Ben.

She’d profess feelings.

She’d recite a soliloquy.

She’d kiss him in the pouring rain.

But she wasn’t a lead in a romance. She wasn’t a Shakespeare heroine, who’d either die for her love or get her massive, ridiculous wedding in the end.

Rey was none of these things. She was just a girl who was stupid. So, so, so stupid.

Her feet didn’t move, Ben’s words echoing in her mind.

_It’s Professor Solo, Miss Johnson._

_It’s Professor Solo, Miss Johnson._

_It’s Professor Solo, Miss Johnson._

How could everything between her and Ben shatter in minutes? Were they always walking on then ice, all of this her doing? Was there anything she could have done to prevent the searing ache she felt in her chest?

“Shit, that was intense.”

Scooting into their space, Jannah cautiously pushed a sopping mop over their dried, spilled coffee on the floor.

“Sorry,” she winced, mopping between the two silent women, “I have to clean this up. I know a lot just went down, but Mando will get ticked if I don’t.”

Rose huffed, refraining a remark on Jannah’s intrusion. Instead, she stepped closed to Rey, giving her a pitiful look. “Rey—hon, you’re crying.”

A shaky breath shudder through Rey.

“No. I’m not.” She shook her head, biting her lips together until it was too painful to continue. “I’m not crying.”

“Come on, let’s get out of Jannah’s way.” Reaching for Rey, Rose gently guided her around the mopped area.

Once they were safely away from the wet floor, Rey shook Rose’s grip off. “I need to go talk to him.” Without looking back, she marched out of Bounty Hunter Brew, determined to figure out where Ben ran off to.

Rose followed after, the door jiggling in her wake. The weather was no better than before, the rain coming down with more ferocity and determination. “No you don’t—you’ll just make it worse.”

“It cannot get any worse than it already is,” Rey shot back, heated. Whirling back to her old friend, she let anger win just for once. “You imploded it! Once something is imploded, it cannot be put back together. It’s in smithereens.”

“You are being melodramatic.” Rose tried to be rational, but Rey didn’t want comfort, she wanted solutions. “He’s just a guy! A guy you shouldn’t even be caring about in that way—”

“You want to know the truth?” Rey asked, shaking her sopping hair out of her face. “I like him! I like him a lot. Possibly the only man I have ever liked romantically—well, ever. And yeah, I started out not liking him because of everything you said, but then I got to know him and he got to know me and for once I felt like someone loved the real me and wanted me to be happy. I’ve never had that—from parents, guardians, friends.” She squeezed her eyes shut, more tears pooling out despite her effort. “Do you know what that is like?”

Squinting through the rain, Rose shook her head. “No. I don’t. I’m sorry.”

“Then let me go find him, because I can’t have him hate my existence. I don’t think I can live with myself if he didn't know the truth from me."

Realizing Rose wasn't going to stop her, Rey began to walk away.

"Wait--" Rose called out.

A small red umbrella was shoved into Rey's arms. 

"You can't get sick. Finals are in a couple of weeks." Rose tossed up the hood of her jacket, ignoring Rey's still observance of her. "Get out of here! Go find him or whatever. Just stop looking at me like I invented sliced bread or saved your life on a battlefield."

Maybe Rose didn't hate her like Rey thought; maybe there was a chance to tend to what had been broken. "Thank you so much, Rose."

Her friend rolled her eyes. "Just hurry. It's freezing."

Opening up the umbrella, Rey ducked under and marched into the thunderous rain.

Any warm, buzzing feelings she relished in mere hours ago were long gone. 

Only numbness from the rain and the cold remained.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you know your Shakespeare, act three is usually when the crap hits the fan and chaos ensues for our flawed heroes! Hence the chapter title.
> 
> I'm slowly churning out these chapters, just give me another couple of weeks, lol.
> 
> Comments and kudos are always appreciated! I love reading and replying to them and they honestly make my day <3


	10. To Be Proven Right; To Be Proven Wrong

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know there are typos somewhere in this, but I'll get them later, lol. I just want to get this out before I wait any longer.
> 
> Enjoy! :D

“Ben! Ben, slow down!” Rey hurried after him.

Not bothering to heed her calls, Ben continued to march away from her, keeping close to the storefronts to stay as far out of the rain as possible.

Once she crossed the street, she caught a glimpse of him hiding out under the awning of a boba shop. Standing tense and out into space—

That is until he saw her heading straight towards him with no signs of stopping.

Without a word, he turned on his heel and walked on his way, letting Rey chase him down the block like some lunatic girl. It wasn’t fair game of cat and mouse—he had longer legs and had a commanding presence. No one would bother to get into his way.

Rey on the other hand…

“ _Ouch_ ,” she hissed, as some pedestrian’s umbrella nearly yanked her hair out in passing. Apparently personal space wasn’t a thing in the middle of a rain storm in November. “Ben! I will seriously follow you until my legs give out—please let me explain.”

A few men and women in passing gave her odd, concerned looks.

A drop of mortification swooped in Rey. “I promise I’m not a stalker!”

More stares emerged at the declaration.

“She’s joking,” came Ben’s tired response, he turning around to face her, “she’s a friend, she’s a friend.” His mutter grumblings eased off a few bystanders, the tension in the air dispelling as he begrudgingly came over to her.

Despite the fact he was dripping wet and shivering in the cold rain, Ben kept his distance. A good three to four feet of distance, and a frown to make demons cower. “What do you want?” he bit out, glowering down at her.

Never once in their friendship had Rey been the subject of his wrath or disgruntled moodiness. Ben was understanding, patient, and lov— _tall_. Understanding, patient, and tall. He did radiate the vibe he _could_ be a hardass, but never once was such a demeanor directed towards her.

Until now.

Standing tall, arms crossed imposingly over his chest, Ben did not seem all too willing to listen to her. However, he wasn’t walking away or crushing her soul with scathing words. Ben was waiting for her to talk; maybe that was the best scenario for this situation.

Clasping down her borrowed little red umbrella closed, Rey matched his stance. Only to drop her arms back to her side half a second later.

She remembered reading somewhere that crossed arms read defensive in body language. Rey didn’t want to be defensive, she wanted to be open. Understanding. Vulnerable—not a quality she was necessarily great at, but she knew she was capable with Ben.

“I wanted to apologize for what happened back there.” Rey met his gaze, Ben’s once beautiful zucchini bread brown eyes, dark and guarded. “I never intended to…it wasn’t like I was trying to…I—” she huffed, a puff of warm breath escaping into the cool air, “I never wanted to hurt you. Or make you upset. I just thought…” She shook her head. “I don’t know what I thought to be completely honest. I just wanted my friends to appreciate me and fight for the greater good, as ridiculous as that sounds.” She rolled her eyes, thinking about how ignorant she had been last semester. “Because it wasn’t fair to my friends that you treated them or graded them that way. I guess I wanted to prove a point that doesn’t even matter anymore.”

“Is that how you function in life?”

His blunt, low words jabbed into the tapping rain.

Tension shot through her body, not expecting such a broad yet piercing question. “Excuse me?”

“Is that how you function in life?” Ben repeated, slow and condescending. “Because I think I’m starting to notice a pattern with you.”

“What are you talking about?”

More people began to leave the square as the rain began to come down harder, beelining towards vehicles and shops until there were just few passing by in a hurry.

Yet Rey and Ben remained.

“You want your friends to love you and appreciate you, so you go on this power trip by trying to fail a class and get a professor cited or fired. At the risk of your own GPA and scholarships.”

“I—”

“And then there is the fact you are hung up on grad school and being my mother’s best student and having an in with her, that you don’t even like your major! Not once have you cared to talk about sociology or your major classes in weeks.” He scoffed in disbelief, piecing together the narrative of her life in his head with the limited information he knew. “It’s almost as though you took a sociology class as a requirement that first semester, met my mother, and decided you wanted to be just like her. Or-or try to become her protégée because you liked her for some absurd reason.”

Rey felt her chest grow cold at his words, a niggle of truth with every statement.

“You have talents and skills,” Ben continued, the praises hollowed and pained, “you are smart and witty, and someone who can honestly do anything with their life if they set their mind to it, but you don’t even embrace the goodness and greatness about yourself.” A tough swallow ran down his neck, Ben’s eyes never leaving hers for a second. “You don’t know who you are and that has become your entire path, trying to latch on to someone—anyone; hell even me—to give you purpose and direction. To the point of your detriment.” A full body releasing sigh rippled through him, his mouth still moving as more words flooded out. “And I know it might be because of your past. Especially your parents—”

“Shut up.” Rey’s eyes snapped shut. “Shut up,” she repeated, quiet and measured. “You made your point—”

“I’m not done,” he bristled, “you need to hear this—”

“No,” she shook her head, eyes still closed, “I don’t.”

“You cannot change where you come from or who you are. You cannot make everyone happy and sacrifice yourself just so they can stick around.” He was soft, not attacking. Stating a simple truth, not wanting to stab a knife with his words. “No one is going to keep you forever and give you this belonging you so desperately want. Not even me.”

Her eyes opened.

Sad, pitiful, and broken, Ben chewed hard on his lips, eyes red. “I want to make things right between us.” A half broken sob clamored out of him. His eyes clamped shut, before blinking open. His voice remained raw. “Don’t come to my office hours. Delete any messages we have, text or email.”

She shook her head hurriedly, a hiccup of cries bubbling out of her without consent. Didn’t matter how hard she tried to breath them down or away, the shaking of her chest and the ache would not stop.

“Ben—don’t. You don’t have to do this—"

Her pleas did nothing but edge him on, his words tumbling out faster than before. “Get rid of my personal number. Still show up to class, but don’t talk to me after. Never talk to me after. If you have a question about the class, ask a classmate or check the syllabus. You and I don’t know each other beyond the classroom.”

“Ben—” She croaked out. Her hand search for his. Holding out. Waiting.

“Rey,” he stepped out of her reach, “ _please_.”

Anger flared in her, tears hot and burning as they streamed down her cheeks. Her hand dropped back to her side, clenched. “I thought this wasn’t just a fall semester relationship.”

Sadness dampened him. Ben walked past her, back in the direction of Bounty Hunter Brew.

“And I thought you were better than this.”

**~*~**

“Re-y…Re-y…Rey!”

Upon Finn’s insistent singing, Rey smothered herself deeper into the sofa and blankets. She wanted to become one with the fleece and the wool and the cotton. Drown in the abyss of blankets and pillows until she could no longer picture her last conversation with Ben on loop.

_“No one is going to keep you forever and give you this belonging you so desperately want. Not even me.”_

Maybe she could complete the rest of the semester virtually.

_“Don’t come to my office hours. Delete any messages we have, text or email.”_

Maybe she could contact her old foster sister, whatshername—Jenny! She was a doctor now, with 2.5 kids and a loving wife who made eco-friendly handbags on Etsy. Her monthly e-newsletter said so. Maybe she could convince her old foster sister to write her a doctor’s note claiming she couldn’t come to class due to a medical reason and offer her services in tutoring or handbag making?

_“You and I don’t know each other beyond the classroom.”_

Or she could see about taking a semester off. Finish off this one with her head down, take a semester off. Work and save during her semester off, then see about taking her last semester abroad? Then she wouldn’t have to see Ben or Dr. Organa or anyone she knew really. Could become an entirely new person…

_“Rey, please.”_

Okay, maybe that scenario only further proved Ben’s point about being directionless and running away from her past.

_“And I thought you were better than this.”_

Who was she kidding? Running away, hiding, and avoiding would just make everything worse. She had to be a trooper and march on…

Just not yet.

“Peanut, you cannot continue hiding on Tico’s couch.” An annoyed sigh followed, Finn plopping himself down on the nearest cushion. “I get it. Really I do. A guy—who you still won’t name, mind you—broke your heart. I remember when Poe and I broke up—”

Rey flipped the blanket off her head. “Poe was a twat!”

“There she is!” Finn cheered. “Come join the living, Rey. We have coffee.” He took a grand sip of his own mug to further prove his point.

Huffing, Rey slipped back down under the covers. “Poe was terrible and nothing like B—” Finn perked at the beginning of the name, Rey panicking, “—enedick. Benedick. That’s his name. Poe is nothing like Benedick.” Thank god for _Much Ado About Nothing_.

Finn shrugged, a moony glint in his eyes. A look he’d get whenever his thoughts traveled to his torrid—Finn’s words, not Rey’s—love affair with his managing supervisor at his internship the previous year. “Poe…was just Poe.”

Rey’s nose wrinkled. “He also dumped you via text.”

“What Poe and I had was once in a lifetime.” A dream sigh escaped him. “Even if it wasn’t perfect.” He came back to reality once more, patting Rey’s head. “But I didn’t let him ruin my life. Yes, I cried for many days, but I still went to school and functioned like a human. And I know you can do the same.”

Rey wasn’t too sure about that.

Ben was… _everywhere._

Well, not really everywhere, but everything reminded her of Ben. Her classes, her books, even her Netflix account. Which was technically his Netflix account considering he paid for it and let her use it when Rose changed the password on the one they once shared.

Thankfully, he didn’t change the password. Or he just hadn’t came around to taking care of that little detail yet.

“Benedick was different,” Rey settled on. Glancing up at Finn, she found his gaze softening in understanding. “He’s not just some crush or a guy I had a torrid love affair with.” A grin formed on her lips before melting away in despair. “He and I never had sex, touched, or kissed. It was nothing like that.”

“Then what was it like?”

“He and I…” How could she possibly explain she and Ben? “…‘Love looks not with the eyes, but with the mind—And therefore is winged Cupid painted blind’.”

Finn’s eyes widened. “Did…did you just quote _A_ _Midsummer’s Night Dream_ to me?”

She sighed, sinking deeper into the blankets. “Yeah. Yeah, I did.”

“Wow, you must have it bad,” he winced, “I never understood that quote by the way. Ugh, Shakespeare gives me a headache.”

“It means love is not rational, Finn! Eyes equal rationality, and mind equals imagination, or it could be seen in the superficial sense of loving one’s personality and soul before anything else. The point being, love is irrational and sometimes you love people you shouldn’t love and it causes chaos, okay!” Rey huffed, throwing her face into her pillow. “Agh!”

“O-k,” Finn breathed out. Inch by inch he stood up from the sofa, backing away slowly. “You cry some more, Peanut. Crying is good for the heart. And I’ll go to class.”

Rey didn’t bother with a goodbye, instead screaming intermittently into her pillow as Finn left.

“Hey, I just saw Finn practically run out of the building what—” Rose closed the door behind her, her feet shuffling to a stop. “You’re still in bed? Don’t you have work or a class? You cannot be ditching all your obligations, Rey.”

Lifting her head from the pillow, Rey found Rose standing at the end of the sofa. “Hi,” she grumbled. “I’m just going to take another nap.”

Not taking no for answer, Rose ripped one of the blankets away from Rey. “No, ‘another nap.’ You need to get up. I let you crash here for a few days because you looked like a drowned rat,” Rey scowled at the comparison, but Rose was not phased, “and I felt guilt about everything that transpired on Sunday, but enough is enough.”

Another blanket was yanked from Rey’s clutches. “Hey!”

“I know you have work with Dr. Organa and Shakespeare on Wednesdays.” Rose began to fold the crumpled blankets, setting each down neatly on the ottoman. While Rey was feeling pathetic, she wasn’t cruel enough to snatch one of her blankets back from its organized pile. “And I know you don’t want to see either.”

“I was fired.”

Dr. Organa declared they were ‘done’—needless to say Rey did not show up to work on Monday for her usual assignments, nor did she bother to contact anyone at Social Sciences Department. There was no doubt in her mind Dr. Organa fired her and submitted the paperwork to HR.

“She can’t legally fire you,” Rose declared with a smug, all-knowing grin. “If you actually read the student employee handbook, like you were suppose to,” her sour tone was not lost on Rey, “you’d know that students who are hired from the work study list cannot be fired because they require and need the aid. If Organa hired you through the school and through the list, then she signed off on the contract saying she could not terminate you unless you violate a school policy—which you have not. And even if she did concoct some reason, she still cannot fire you, but suspend you from the position.”

Curled into a ball, hugging a pillow close to her chest, all Rey could utter was, “ _Oh_.”

“Yeah, ‘oh!’” Rose parroted back. “So get your ass up and march into that office and get to work!”

Grabbing her phone, Rey checked the time. “My shift started in a little over a half an hour. I don’t have time to go to my dorm, get ready, and then go to work. I’ll be late.”

Rose frowned, not seeing the problem. “What’s wrong with what you’re wearing?”

Rey glanced down at her stained, second hand flannel, holey tank top, and hunter green biker shorts. She raised an eyebrow at her friend. “You tell me.”

“I’ll raid Paige’s closet and find you some jeans and you’ll be right as rain!”

“Please don’t say ‘rain’,” Rey winced. Rain made her think about Sunday, and Sunday made her think about Ben, and within seconds she could be back to her fetal position, crying her heart out over the state of her life.

Sensing her mistake, Rose cringed. “Right.” She began to make her way to Paige’s room before backtracking to the sofa. “You also might want to use the bathroom. Maybe wipe down the sweat glands and spritz some perfume. But only if you want to.”

“Rose!” Rey cried out, scrambling off the sofa. “Why didn’t you say anything sooner?” She ran to the bathroom, flipping on the shower, waiting for it to get warmer. Grabbing the closest scrunchie she could find, she piled all her hair into a messy bun. “I’ve been parked on the sofa for days—”

“When a friend is heartbroken, you let them cry it out!” Rose called out from further in the apartment. “You don’t tell them to take a shower unless they are up for it!”

Groaning, Rey stripped and climbed into the shower, scrubbing her entire body in lightening speed.

She could do this—she could absolutely do this. Just get ready. Go to work. Demand Leia let her work, and get her job, a job she apparently never really lost in the first place, back.

Then she’d go to Shakespeare and…

Sit for the lecture.

And then leave.

Go back to her dorm.

And not to Ben’s office.

A sniffle, a hiccup, then—

An ugly sob warbled out of her. Honestly, Rey thought she was done crying over him. Tired of the tears and snot. Her body and emotions didn’t agree with her silent determination to stop. To stop feeling the pain in an overwhelming tenfold.

The shrill of her crying echoed off the bathroom walls, encompassing her in a broken embrace.

Rey couldn’t do this; who was she kidding? She was better off hiding in the bathtub forever, and ever, and ever, and ever. Until she became a prune.

A sharp knock rapped against the bathroom door. “Less sobbing, more scrubbing!” Rose ordered. “I’m giving you another minute, then we gotta go!”

Wiping her nose with her wet arm, Rey stepped under the water, the suds washed away and down the drain.

**~*~**

“That jacket looks a-mazing on you!” Rose gushed. “And with those jeans, it is like you are a whole new woman!”

Despite her initial hesitation, raiding Paige’s closet wasn’t a terrible idea. Rey and the eldest Tico were close enough in size for the clothing to not look too out of place of her frame.

But she still felt awkward.

Paige Tico was a badass through and through, and her clothing stuck with the aesthetic. All black, leather jackets, and ripped jeans—and fitted.

Well, Rey had never worn anything remotely fitted in her life. Often she gravitated towards looser clothing; anything that made her blend in. Growing up, she received unwanted attention—moving schools in the middle of the year due to a new placement, eyes on her when she was the only kid in school without a cellphone, questioning and pitiful glances when she had to share her past. In the system, she learned keeping to herself and being as invisible as possible stopped the older kids from picking on her and unwanted attention from boys. She caught on quick, and knew how to survive.

She liked being in the background; it made moving through life easier.

“I’m returning the jeans and jacket back to Paige tomorrow,” Rey said, shifting in the passenger seat. The black high-waisted jeans were too tight, she barely able to breathe.

“No, keep it. She had a bazillion of them. She won’t even notice it’s gone. It brings the hot factor,” Rose declared, pulling into the Sciences Department parking lot, “I knew you have a hot body under those sweaters and flannels. It’s disgusting; I love it.” She chuckled giddily as she searched for a parking spot, the lot almost full.

“But it just feels like it’s too much.” It took some arguing, Rose whining and pleading with her, but Rey was determined to wear her own flannel and boots. She didn’t care if Rose cried out about it. Her friend believed she could make Rey her paper doll, even for just a moment and Rey wasn’t going to stand for it. Entirely at least—she still need clothes to borrow after all. “I think people will look at me weird. I never dress like this. I’ll get noticed.”

“But that’s what we need! Eyes on you. Respecting you!” Rose pumped her fist in the air. Her hands slammed back on the wheel before the car could swerve. Sitting forward and defensive, she pulled into the first open spot, not quite making it in perfectly, but leaving enough space for Rey to wiggle out. “You look hot and hotness brings confidence!”

Nose scrunched, Rey zipped the black leather jacket up to her collarbone. Once she was covered up, she felt air return to her lungs. “Fine. But I’m not going to wear it again—I feel weird. Not like me.”

“Just pretend to not be you then,” Rose said, trying her best to be encouraging, “at least to get through the day. Sometimes we got to be someone else to get what we want.”

Rey’s lips downturned at suggestion.

_“You don’t know who you are and that has become your entire path, trying to latch on to someone—anyone; hell even me—to give you purpose and direction. To the point of your detriment.”_

“I don’t think I can do that anymore. Pretending to be someone or something I’m not.”

Rose’s brows furrowed. “What are you talking about?”

Biting her lips together, Rey shook her head. “Nothing. It’s nothing. Thanks for the ride and letting me crash at your place. I don’t think I could have been alone after everything that happened.”

Her friend’s demeanor softened, almost gentle. “It was the least I can do. After all I’ve been a pretty crappy friend.” Before Rey could say anything else, Rose shooed her off. “Go! You need to talk to Organa and go to class. You got this, Rey.”

“I got this,” Rey repeated, giving a firm nod.

Grabbing her tote bag, Rey climbed out of the car and wiggled out of the space between Rose’s car and the blue mini-van parked beside them. Once free, she rushed to Dr. Organa’s office, not paying any mind to anyone or anything.

She was on a mission and she needed to be focused.

_Get to Organa. Get her job back._

She entered the building, taking a left to the stairs. Two steps at a time, and she wasn’t even out of breath.

She could do this!

_Get to Organa. Get her job back_.

Simple. Simple. Simple. Only two steps and then she’ll be back at it, like nothing ever happened.

Making it to the correct floor, Rey powerwalked her way to the end of the hall. All the offices she passed we busy, bustling with students, coming in and out for office hours as finals loomed on the horizon.

Seeing her destination a few mere feet away, Rey nodded once to the secretary, Kaydel, ready to pass her and enter Organa’s office.

The young woman flew out of chair, ready to stop her.

“Rey, hold on! Dr. Organa is in a meeting—”

“She can put the meeting on hold, lord knows how many times she’d put our meetings on hold.”

Rey shoved open the door.

“Rey, please wait—"

_Get to Organa. Get her job back._

“You cannot fire me because I technically cannot get fired!” Rey blurted out, eyes screwed shut in enormous fear.

So much for confidence.

“You were planning on _firing_ her?”

Ben’s voice was like a douse of cold water.

Rey’s eyes flew open.

Sitting opposite each other were mother and son—Dr. Leia Organa and Ben Solo. Both held to-go cups in their hands, their orders scribbled in Jannah’s familiar messy scrawl.

Neither looked well.

Leia’s hair was not piled into perfect up-dos, but tied together in one lone braid down her back. Her usual power suit was not in sight, but dark slacks and a fuzzy blue sweater. Glasses perched on her nose, her eyes seemed larger and more open. One could say Leia Organa looked somewhat welcoming, if one were so generous.

She looked like a normal person. Not the overlord Rey so often imagined.

Then there was Ben.

Bags under his eyes, too prominent to hide with his glasses. Scruff on his chin and upper lip, a sign he had not shaved in days. His hair was hidden by a beanie, ears tucked in as well. He wore a zip up hoodie and jeans, looking more like a student than a professor with numerous degrees and a class to teach within the next hour.

He looked like the Ben she knew outside of university walls.

Neither seemed to wear the masks and personas they tried so hard to maintain. Neither seemed keen to be there all together.

“I apologize Dr. Organa,” Kaydel barreled in less than a minute later, out of breath, “she came barging in. I couldn’t stop her. I tried.”

Dr. Organa hummed in understanding. “It’s fine Kaydel. She can stay. Please close the door on your way out.”

The secretary nodded, following her supervisor’s orders.

For a moment Rey stood by the door, unsure of what to do.

She did not plan for this. She just assumed Organa would be doing some paperwork or writing up a proposal for a department meeting. Not talking to her son. Or having coffee with her son. Or her son, Ben, being there in general.

“Don’t stand their like a spooked deer,” Dr. Organa grumbled. She motioned to the open seat beside Ben. “Sit down.”

“Don’t talk to her like that,” Ben muttered towards his mother.

The woman’s lips twisted to the side, as though hold back a biting remark. But nothing came.

Taking Dr. Organa’s orders, Rey sat down.

Ben didn’t look her way. Not even an involuntary glance.

His eyes remained on his coffee.

Feeling out of place, Rey brought her bag to her lap, hugging it to her abdomen.

Whatever conversation Leia and Ben seemed to be having before Rey’s little intrusion had not picked back up, both choosing to remain silent in her presence.

She was too nervous to speak, or say anything. Without many options laid out before her, Rey followed their lead in silence.

“You technically cannot fire her if she is on the work study list.”

Rey’s eyes snapped to Ben. His attention remained on his coffee cup, fiddling with the cardboard sleeve, pushing it up and down. Up and down. Like a little rhythm too soothe himself.

“I know that,” came Dr. Organa’s measured reply, “I wasn’t going to fire, Rey.” Her eyes darted to the girl in question, then back to Ben. “I don’t understand where she got that idea—”

“You said we were done,” Rey said, finally finding her voice. “At Bounty Hunter. You told me after that day we were done.”

Dr. Organa’s eyes fluttered shut, a hand coming up to massage her right temple. “Yes. I said that. But I meant that you will not get a letter of rec and I will no longer be your mentor for your independent study. I’m sure I can send a referral to Professor Holdo; she’ll happily mentor you for your independent.”

How could Leia brush off the matter so easily, as though it were a simple fix and altering Rey’s educational path in any way? “You didn’t say that though.”

“I thought it was implied,” Dr. Organa shot back, halfway towards disgruntled. “You’d would have known I cannot fire you if you read the student worker employee handbook.”

“Nobody reads that, Mom,” Ben interjected, an exhausted exhale rolling through him. “You know that. You just wanted to scare her because you were upset, and let me just say, that’s a little fucked up.”

Dr. Organa stiffened at her son’s less than stellar comment, but chose to ignore him. “You still have a job, Rey. You don’t have to worry.”

Rey expected relief to wash over her in a tidal wave at the news. To feel lighter and happy knowing she had a job and wasn’t going to have to worry about finding another nearly halfway through the school year.

Except she felt the exact opposite; _dread_.

“But…” Rey withheld her question. She’d be ludicrous to suggest such a thing.

“Dear, speak up,” Dr. Organa addressed her, only half paying attention as her eyes gravitated to her open laptop, “you know I cannot hear you when you mumble.”

Yet she knew she needed to ask.

“But what if I quit?”

Both Dr. Organa and Ben’s heads lifted at the question. One stunned she was even suggesting the idea altogether, and the other intense but intrigued.

“Why would you want to quit?” Dr. Organa asked instead. “I give you flexible hours. You can work from the comfort of your dorm. You are welcomed in the office whenever you so desire. You are a TA; people fight for this job and I gave it to you without second thought. You are excellent here.”

“Because I don’t like working for you.”

The air in the room became thick, weighted, and tender, as though Rey pushed hard on a never-healing wound.

A tired laugh came from Dr. Organa. She reaching for her coffee, holding it but never taking a sip. “Dear, you will work for plenty of people you don’t like in your life time. I’m just the first in a long line. It’s best you recognize you are good at your job and you should stick with it, at least until the end of the year.”

“You mean until all the grades are put in,” Rey shot back, “because no one else will grade the papers, except me.”

Across from her, Dr. Organa did not seem pleased by the calm retaliation. Jaw tense, nodding slowly, she considered Rey for a moment. “You could quit, but I don’t know where you could find a job on campus or off campus towards the end of the semester. Plus you have a student worker contract.”

“She can technically quit whenever she wants,” Ben added, speaking for the first time since the topic was brought up, “there is nothing against it in the general student worker contract.”

“Then I quit,” she said, the words feeling like a breath of fresh air. “I quit. I don’t want to grade your papers anymore. I don’t want to answer student’s questions, pretending to be you. I’m done.”

Dr. Organa’s lips pinched together, frustration evident in her eyes. “Rey, you aren’t thinking clearly—”

“No,” Rey shook her head, “I am thinking plenty clearly. I’ll do the two weeks’ notice if I have to and take care of whatever it is I need to take care of, but I don’t want to do this anymore.”

“Rey, really consider your options for a moment—”

“Mom,” Ben said, stopping his mother before she could continue, “I think she knows what she wants.”

Standing up from his chair, Ben gave them both a small nod in goodbye. “I have a class to teach in thirty minutes on the opposite side of campus.” His eyes slated over to Rey. “You’re excused due having a meeting with another prof. Just make sure to submit your assignment before midnight.” He slung his satchel over his shoulder, meeting his mother’s stubborn and fuming gaze. “And I guess I’ll see you at dinner?”

Dr. Organa hummed in thought, as though considering the prospect. “I suppose. I’ll text you the address of the restaurant.”

Taking that as a positive answer, Ben left the office without another word.

Rey watched him go, using every ounce of strength to not chase after him.

“We were talking about you,” Dr. Organa stated plainly. She picked up a pen, writing down a note in her planner and resumed scrolling on her laptop. Checking emails. Replying to colleagues. Replying to students. “Apparently you have made quite the impression on him.”

“I can say the same,” Rey replied, being honest. Despite all that had happened over the last few days, she could not deny Ben had left a permanent impression on her. Whether that be good or bad, verdict was still out.

“And on other students,” Dr. Organa continued, closing her laptop. Upon seeing Rey’s confusion, she addressed the matter head on. “I’ve received a complaint from a student in one of his classes. The student claimed Professor Solo has an inappropriate relationship with one of his students, naming you specifically.”

This had to be lie. A complete and utter lie.

Or better yet a terrible nightmare. One Rey had to imagine throwing herself off a cliff to wake up from.

“But—but that’s impossible.” She rattled her brain, trying to find the reason and logic of it all. “He and I—He and I never did anything wrong!”

Dr. Organa’s eyebrows shot up. “Wait, do you mean…”

God, she had to spell it out didn’t she? “I am going to be speaking as your son’s uh, friend, not as a student, but,” she took a deep breath, hoping she would blush like a stupid hormonal girl, “but Ben and I were never intimate in that nature. Never. Not once.”

Silence ensued, Dr. Organa processing the information. “Are you saying any allegations of an inappropriate relationship are false?”

Rey’s brows furrowed. “What constitutes as an inappropriate relationship? In your eyes or the university’s?”

“As the Dean of Students,” Dr. Organa rolled her eyes at the title, for once not proclaiming it proudly to any degree, “I need to know if you two were sexually intimate, or he was giving you a higher and undeserving grades due to your personal relationship to the point it was inappropriate and unfair.”

“No.”

“And there isn’t any evidence indicating it could have been of that nature?” Dr. Organa’s eyes pleaded with her. “No emails, text messages, or phone calls? Even if you two truly only had a friendship type of relationship.”

Thankfully, Rey listened to Ben.

She deleted everything like he asked.

“No. Nothing.”

“Oh, thank god,” Dr. Organa wheezed, dropping her face in her hands. “Thank god, thank god, thank god.” A small whimper came from her. “I thought…” She gulped for air, face still down and away from Rey’s view, “I thought this was going to be the end of both of our careers.” Spinning her chair away from Rey, her shoulders shuddered, Dr. Organa attempting to compose herself. “Then it’s just a student trying to stir up drama, probably due to a bad grade. It happens all the time. The board will do their normal investigation, find no evidence, they’ll get my questionnaire form on both of you and this will go away by the end of the semester.”

Another shuddering gasp for breath sounded from her.

“Dr. Organa…”

“Please, call me Leia. You’ve already seen the worst of me, really.”

“Uh, _Leia_ ,” the name sounded odd out of Rey’s mouth, but she supposed she simply needed to get use to it, “are you positive there is nothing else that could cause Ben to be removed? Or that the student didn’t have any other complaints regarding him?”

“No.” Leia shook her head. “No, the complaint was flimsy at best. The student claimed about favoritism, and speculated there was a more personal relationship between you and Ben. But there wasn’t any details or evidence of specific event or instance. Like I said, student stirring drama. It happens more than you’d think.”

Rey blinked, a bit stunned. “I just don’t know who’d do this.”

“Your class is small,” Leia snorted, “practice some process of elimination and I am sure you’ll find your culprit.”

Grabbing the box of tissues off the edge of her desk, Leia blew her nose. Once she was done, she spun back around to Rey. A forced smile grace her lips.

“Never have children, Rey. All you’ll do is worry your heart away on them.” Her eyes welled again. Picking up her crumpled tissue, she dabbed under her eyes. “I might not be the best mom—hell, I’ve scarred that poor boy.” A sad chuckled stumbled out of her like a forgotten memory. “But I love him with all my heart. That kid could be the biggest pain in the ass, but here I am thirty-something years later still trying to save him. Protect him.” She scoffed, sore and raspy. “It’s exhausting.”

Witnessing Leia at her most vulnerable, Rey believed she finally saw the woman for her true self.

Someone who cared too much; who sacrificed herself for other. A individual who wanted to be the best and successful, willing to do whatever necessary to reach her goal. A determined, diligent leader.

But also a mother. A widow. A woman barely holding it together.

Leia needed help, even if she didn’t want to admit it.

“Maybe I was bit brash quitting like that,” Rey said, hoping she wouldn’t regret her decision. “I mean, it is nearly the end of the semester and I’m sure there are plenty of assignments that need to get into the gradebook.”

Before her, Leia stopped dabbing her eyes. “Don’t take pity on me, dear. I’m fine.”

“No,” Rey uttered, in awe of how stubborn the woman could be, “you’re not fine. You need help. So…I guess I’ll stick around until the end of the semester. With less hours,” she added, “and you will reply to your students if they have genuine questions that are not on the syllabus. I can’t be you for them, Leia.”

Leia listened carefully to Rey’s conditions, ruminating on them for a moment before speaking again. “Alright. I think I can work with that until the end of the semester. You do realize the less hours you clock in, the less pay?”

“Yes,” Rey assured her, an idea taking form in her mind, “and next semester I’ll work part-time. Part-time to train someone to take over my position when I graduate.”

“You don’t need to do that.” Her statement contradicted her reaction, relief flooding her face at the suggestion.

Rey gave her a small, honest smile. “I want to.”

**~*~**

Kenobi looked her up and down, an eyebrow raised. Appalled didn’t not even begin to encapsulate the horror in his eyes. “No.”

“Come on!” Rey cried out, slumping against the counter. “You need help around here and I am the perfect person for the job.”

“I have worked here alone for twenty-five years,” Kenobi told her, no budging in his tone. “I will work here alone for another twenty-five years. I don’t need some nosey girl trying to help me. I don’t need help.”

Done with the conversation, he walked away and out from behind the counter. Pulling the returns cart over to him, the elderly man ambled his way through the aisles, placing books back into their rightful spots.

Rey followed after, keeping a few paces behind him. “Then don’t see it as help, Kenobi. See it as an opportunity to share your vast wisdom with someone who genuinely cares about you.”

“You’ll annoy me,” he tsked. “I like you, I do. I like you enough, but I have had my fair share of people like you to last a lifetime.”

Chewing on the inside of her cheek, Rey consider her options. She knew Kenobi needed help, even if he was stubborn about it. Ben said so himself. Even though they were no longer speaking outside of the classroom, that did not mean she all but gave up on him.

And that didn’t mean she didn’t love Kenobi’s shabby little bookshop.

“I won’t be here all the time,” Rey said, “maybe a couple of hours a day. I can close out at night so you can get home earlier and enjoy your evenings.”

Kenobi grunted. He shoved a copy of the _Iliad_ on the closest shelf.

“Also I know how you like coffee. I can make you a fresh pot ever afternoon. Or tea! I can do all the cleaning and tidying so you don’t have to deal with it.”

Upon turning the corner, Kenobi brought his cart to a stop. He faced her, blue-green eyes searching her. Perhaps searching for the lie, the ulterior motive. “Did Benjamin put you up to this?”

“No.” She shrugged a little, hands clasped together against her chest, as though holding her heart in place. “Ben and I aren’t really talking outside of the classroom right now. It’s for the best like that.”

Disappointment flashed in his eyes, before resuming his neutral demeanor of bemusement. “You start tomorrow afternoon.”

“What?” A bright grin emerged from her as his words sunk in. “You mean it?”

“Yes,” Kenobi sighed, “don’t make me regret it.”

“Thank you, thank you, thank you,” Rey blubbered, excited. “I promise I won’t let you down.”

“Get out of here before I decide to take it back,” Kenobi ordered, continuing his work.

“Got it!” Rey began to make her way out of the bookshop, a pep in her step.

Maybe things weren’t perfect, or nowhere near what she wanted, but she must have been heading in the right direction, right? Painful growing pains, but necessary growing pains.

As she passed the window, Rey’s steps came to halt.

Her reflection stared back at her.

She looked like a mess. Hair half falling out. Coffee stain on her flannel visible from a distance. Mud still stuck to her boots from the weekend rain.

But the leather jacket…

Rose was right; the leather jacket made her look hot and somewhat put together despite the chaos of her entire being.

Sure, she didn’t feel confident when she put it on, but looking at herself now…Rey could not help but hold her head up high.

** Rey **

**I think I’ll keep the jacket.**

**Its grown on me.**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well then....looks like our girl is starting to figure some things out.
> 
> In regards to the work study policies, this is based off of a couple of universities I know. Also all the information regarding the complaints towards a prof and the process of going through that is the conglomerative of several universities and me making the most basic form out of that research because I am lazy. Sorry.


	11. A Lonely Lover's Thoughts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you everyone who has been reading, and welcome to the slew of newcomers who have recently joined us! I am stunned by the overwhelming love this story as been receiving and I am grateful for all your support! I am still replying to the previous chapters' comments and will be getting to the rest of them these next few days :)
> 
> Typos will be fixed later!
> 
> WARNING: Brief mention of depression. Very brief. Like two lines.
> 
> Enjoy!

For once Ben felt relief when Thanksgiving Break rolled around.

(Mostly because it meant he wouldn’t see _her_ face Wednesdays and Fridays from two to four in the afternoon, knowing that’d be the only chance he’d catch a glimpse of her for the rest of the day—nay, week.)

The week off meant assigning students the final study guides and packets hoping they’d at least attempt the work over the week break. More than likely the average student wouldn’t touch the assignment until the Saturday or Sunday before classes resumed.

But a man could dream.

Knowing his batch of students this year, he’d have review week cut out for him.

At least he didn’t have to worry about one student in particular. He was beyond positive she’d do fine on the final. Not that he should be thinking about her. He shouldn't be thinking about her at all, but that was easier said than done.

“Do you like the mushrooms?” his mother asked.

They've been sitting in her favorite restaurant for the last thirty minutes, Ben counting down the seconds until he could go back to his apartment and be alone with his own thoughts. Since their not so great impromptu brunch, he and his mother tried their best to meet up at least a couple of times a week for dinner. Usually she'd pick the place and he'd show up on time. Always some form of Italian Cuisine, and Ben paid for his half despite by his mother arguing otherwise.

Not much happened on their dinners.

Discussion of classes. A brief mention of Han here and there. Small talk on the weather. And maybe a joke to lighten the mood.

Most of all they avoided the topic of Rey altogether.

That is until that night.

“I know you want to ask.” Leia picked out her salad, stabbing and jabbing at what little remained. “You've been avoiding it for the last two weeks. But I can see right through you.”

“I don't know what you're talking about.”

He forked his mushrooms, spearing one on top of the other. He shoved the food into his mouth and chewed slowly, preventing any other talk on the subject.

His mother raised an eyebrow. “You know exactly what I'm talking about.” Pushing away her plate she reached for another breadstick. Butter shined off the top, melted to perfection, enticing to the eye. A perfect comfort food. “She's fine by the way.” She eyed him warily. “In case you were wondering.”

“I wasn't.”

“You were.” She waved the breadstick at him, poking like a javelin. “I can see it all over your face. You are not as great as hiding your emotions as you think you are. Just like your father.”

“Can you please stop comparing me to Dad?”

“I can't help it sometimes. I see it and I just say it.” She shrugged, half-apologetic. “I'll try my best to stop.”

Ben realized he couldn't ask for more.

“It's just sometimes I look at you and all I see is Han. All I see is your father and I just can't help but tell you how much of him is in you.”

And there went the apology. He should have known it was an empty effort. There is nothing stopping Leia Organa when her when she set her mind to something, even if it was a knee jerk reaction.

“But she's fine. Working.” She finished off her breadstick. A half-hearted search for her napkin commenced, the one laying on her lap clearly forgotten during the course of dinner. Coming up short, she gave up. Crumbs fell to the table as she dusted off her hands. “She’s focused on studying for finals. Not causing any trouble,” she paused, considering the validity of her comment, “not that she did before, but more so keeping her head down. More than usual.”

“Oh,” he breathed, “that's good I guess.”

“She asks about you.”

“Oh, she does?” he asked. A trill of hope ran through him.

“Just a simple ‘how is he doing?’”

“And how is she?”

“I told you. She’s fine.”

“What did she ask about me?”

“Nothing out of the ordinary.”

“Well, what is ordinary?” He tried, hoping to get some—any really—information on Rey out of her, while still acting nonchalant. His mother already knew how deep his feelings ran for the young woman, no need for her to claim he was teetering on obsessive. He’d never live the humiliation down.

“The usual—is he eating? Is he sleeping? Is he doing well?” The bitter mocking in his mother’s tone was not lost; she found Rey to be nagging. Not that he blamed her, Rey’s compassion for others could form into an annoyance when one was bombarded with insistent questions all at once.

“So nothing else?”

“No.” Leia reached for her wine. “Believe it or not, she knows how to keep her boundaries. She’s got a good head on her shoulders. In fact, her grades are better than ever. She’s flourishing, actually.” She took a long sip of her drink.

“Good for her.” He meant it; good on Rey for finding her footing. Good for her to not be floating in senselessness, like him.

“Good for you,” Leia reminded him, the student complaint still looming in the back ground.

He's supposed it's good for him to keep his distance from her. Not necessarily an enjoyed distance, but one of necessity. He knew boundaries were needed; they were too reckless before, even in their caution, to the point all could have fallen apart because he spoke with her for a fraction too long in the classroom. All because he recognized the intelligence she possessed, and looked at her for more than deemed appropriate. At least in the eyes of others.

He could say he was doing the same. Keeping his head down, focusing on his work. All ties were broken. Any form of personal contact they engaged in over the last few weeks had been deleted from both their devices’ history. No loose ends to keep him hanging on.

Except for one: he took pity on her and did not change the Netflix password, unsure of where her friendship with the Tico girl stood.

Lord knows he still felt guilty about that situation. Last semester his colleague, Professor Gwen Phasma, was trying her best to help, though her methods were often polarizing to his. She taught with an iron fist, rather than a roundtable discussion. She wanted her students to learn her way, not allow them to explore the material. Respectable form of teaching from a certain perspective. Just not his.

But he could not refrain from the aid she offered. He needed help and at the time a TA was not an option. He'd have to live with the consequences of that semester.

The waiter sat down their entrees; ricotta primavera for his mother and a classic spaghetti for himself. Perhaps part of him would always be that picky eater, choosing what was known and comfortable instead of venturing into something new, like the shrimp scampi.

It then occurred to him both his father and Rey would probably order the shrimp scampi. While both were habitual creatures, both possessed the same desire for an adventure or thrill. The only difference was his father embraced the unknown while Rey feared it.

Leia gave the waiter a grateful smile while Ben gave him a small nod, seizing the chance for an interruption. His mother dug right into the food while Ben took his time, mind far from the dinner placed before them.

“Does it always hurt?” he asked staring down at the cluster of meatballs sitting at the top of the spaghetti. “When dad would leave, would it hurt this much?”

“What you have with Rey and what I had with your father are two completely different things.” Setting down her fork, she finally looked up at him. “He chose to leave for his own reasons and we were already married at that point. You were already born. We had a rocky marriage and newborn son. It wasn’t perfect in the slightest.” A fleeting wistfulness consumed her, longing and mournful. She missed his father no matter how hard she tried to hide otherwise. “You and her are still at the precursor to a relationship. You have yet to even go on an official date. How can you be so sure that what you two have is long term?”

“Because I just do,” he said, “when you know you know, as ridiculous as that sounds.” He rolled his eyes at his sappy reasoning. “That's how I feel.” Sensing his mother's concerned stare, Ben knew he had to address the matter she continued to dance around. “I understand where you are coming from and I appreciate the help and advice you have given me during this weird time, but you don't need to worry about Rey and I.”

“That's not an easy request.”

“It's not a request.”

His mother's lips pursed. Food laid forgotten and cooling. “You have never done anything like this before. Never brought anyone over. Never mentioned anyone in passing. Never became so despondent over a single soul. How can a mother not worry? Especially when so much is at stake.”

“Nothing can be at stake if nothing has happened. As you said there has been nothing official.” Ben's eyebrows jumped up, considering the vague and potentially blank slate he and Rey now possessed. “If she and I can manage to maintain our distance until the end of the semester, then what is there to fear? I haven't spoken to her at all these last two weeks. She hasn't reached out to me. If anything _this_ is our best scenario for any possible relationship to happen after the year is over.”

“You are being too optimistic.”

“And you are not being optimistic enough,” Ben told her plainly. “Like you said, I have not reacted like this to anyone else ever in my life. Do you not see why maybe she is worth the risk, if there is even a risk once January rolls around?”

“There will be suspicious eyes,” she reminded him, “but I do see where you are coming from. I just don't want you to run into anymore issues at the university. I can only put my neck out for you so many times before it becomes a problem for the rest of the administration.”

She didn't have to elaborate. Ben knew exactly what she was referring. “I didn't ask you for this job.”

“I put in a good word for you.”

“You didn't have to do that.”

“But I wanted to,” she assured him. “Not since you were a boy had we been in the same place at the same time besides for the occasional Christmas. I was not going to let that opportunity slip through my hands.”

“We don't even spend the holidays together right now and we have been in the same location for almost four years,” Ben was keen to argue, “it is only now that we have decided to even institute weekly dinners.”

“It was a long time coming,” Leia said, satisfied with her own sound logic. “Maybe this was the little event to push us to finally do it.”

“Maybe,” Ben muttered. There was no point in arguing with his mother. She was a stubborn woman who understood her logic and struggled to see from his perspective—had struggled to see from his perspective since he was a child. She wanted the best for him, but Ben wasn't too sure that either knew what exactly the ‘best’ could actually be.

Leia resumed her meal, silently declaring the conversation over. With ease she switched to her preferred topic at hand, which happened to be one of the reasons for their dinner. “I spoke with Luke the other day.”

“Oh really,” Ben tried his best to sound intrigued. However it was difficult to sound invested in anything when Uncle Luke was involved.

While he and his uncle studied similar subjects and found themselves in the same field, Ben and Luke could not be further polarized. From how they viewed their politics to how they interpreted the great Bard’s language, the two could never quite see eye to eye. Luke believed Ben was too radical for the academic field, yet he also believed he was too soft in his teaching methods. Ben on the other hand, believed the opposite of his uncle, finding his uncle’s methods too convoluted for the collegiate educational system and not personal enough to inspire growth.

This of course was just a mere morsel in the entire mountain of issues between the two men, however one that instantly came to mind when the two ever happened to be in the other’s presence.

“Yes he mentioned how he is enjoying Ireland.”

“He always did like the rain and the cold, it must be nice to be one with his own frozen soul.”

“ _Ben_ ,” his mother scolded him, “I know you and him don't always get along, but we are family. You're not going to get another uncle in this life, so best make do with the one you have.”

“That is one way to put it.” As much as Ben did not want to admit, his mother did have a point. Their biological family was as small as they came, his mother only having a twin and his father an only child. Extended family fared no better, his grandfather an orphan, and his grandmother ceasing contact with her family upon her marriage. And while his mother was in contact with her extended adoptive family, Ben struggled all his life to form meaningful connections with his relatives in the Organa family. Sure there were honorary uncles and relatives in his life, but they were few and far between. His petulant stubbornness and voluntary distance in his teens and twenties only made his familial relationships strained over time.

“I told him about your little dilemma.”

“Is that what we're calling it now? Pretty sure a moment ago we were openly discussing her, but if that's how you want to address the matter, then so be it.”

She rolled her eyes, a puff of frustration fuming from her nose. “I just told him you were having lady problems.” He all but wanted to thump his head against the table. Of course his mother told his uncle; why would he expect otherwise? There were no secrets kept between the wonder twins. “And while he could not relate or offer his own wisdom—" The last person on earth he would want advice from was his uncle. “—He did offer for us to visit during the winter holidays.”

“That's oddly kind of him.”

“He was once a kind man, but time can change a person. It certainly has him.”

His mother would be the first to admit the underlying problems and changes her brother had over the years. She blamed it on Luke feeling left out as they both grew in separate directions in life, his sister and best friend getting married and having a family of their own, and the years of isolation he experienced due to his advanced studies.

Ben blamed it on depression. As the old saying went ‘takes one to know one.’

“What did you tell him?”

“That we’d consider it,” Leia answered vaguely. “But we’d decide soon, by Thanksgiving the latest so we can at least find _a_ flight out to his little island.”

“That's less than four days.”

“I've known for a week.”

Ben's eyes bulged. “A week? And you are barely telling me now?”

“I've learned giving you shorter timelines makes your decisions faster,” his mother told him smugly, “I know better than to let you think too long and hard. You’ll only make things more complicated and it’ll involve more Google searching than necessary.” She gave him a bright smile. “Just think of it as me saving you from more worry.”

“But what if –"

“No ‘what if’s. You don't need to worry about the weather taking a turn for the worst or the political climate in Ireland. It's a simple week visit. Just a ‘yes’ or ‘no.’ You can go with your gut feeling. I know you can.” He found her faith incredibly daunting. As much as she liked to boast about knowing him well, she clearly did not know his decision-making skills as well as she liked to believe. “You don't have to answer me now, but please by the end of the day on Thanksgiving. The latest.”

“That's not enough time.”

“That's all you're getting.” Her shoulders bounced in a matter-of-fact shrug. “Are you going to finish your sautéed mushrooms? They've been sitting there almost all dinner and if you're not going to eat them I can just add them to my pasta.”

“Sure. Have them.” He passed over the plate letting his mother's proposal sink in.

A small vacation would be nice. He hadn't been to Ireland in years. Perhaps a little getaway was just what he needed to clear his mind.

“By the way I also told the waiter it's your birthday—”

Horror poured into him like a never-ending waterfall. “ _Mom_!”

“Surprise! You are not getting out of this one.”

Right on cue, clapping and singing waiters began to march their way over to him. Flashbacks of impromptu and days late birthday dinners popped into his mind. His mother and father hurrying him along to a local diner or eatery whenever one of them made it home after a business trip—because there always, always, always seemed to be a business trip or seminar on his birthday—and coerce the wait-staff to sing to him.

As the small scoop of chocolate gelato and Italian frosted cookie was placed before him, Ben lifted his gaze to his mother.

She was smiling.

A genuine, warm smile.

A smile she’d give when he was little and she came to soothe him after a nightmare, or make him hot chocolate on a rainy afternoon.

Her smile had not graced the surface for ages. Not since…

Not since Dad.

“What are you waiting for? Blow out the candles, son!”

Closing his eyes, Ben made one wish.

**~*~**

“Here are the keys—” Kenobi snatched them back before Rey could grasp them. “Just because I will be out in the middle of the pacific ocean does not mean I will not know what you are up to.” He motioned to the small, mid-2000s security camera positioned at the corner of the entrance. “I am always watching.”

Rey frowned at the camera. She knew Kenobi was somewhat tech savvy, but possibly not enough to have access to his camera via Wi-Fi. The monitor was set up with the camera in the backroom, not positioned well enough to see anything except the profile of those who entered. Over the last couple of weeks Rey attempted to reangle the camera, only for Kenobi to throw a fit and put it back to its former and stationary position.

“Very _1984_ of you.”

“A precautionary measure.”

“You have nothing to worry about. It’s just for the remainder of the week.” Rey reached for the shop keys once more. Kenobi pulled his arm back and up, further out of her grasp. “On one of the slowest weeks of the year.” With a quick snap of her arm, she tried to snatch the keys.

Except Kenobi was quicker, tucking his keys away into his sleeve.

“And you’ve worked here for only two weeks. What makes you think I trust you?”

“You wouldn’t have asked if I was staying in town for the break if you had second thoughts,” Rey shot back, arms crossed over her chest. “You’ve also let me run the place over the weekends. I think you do trust me, more than you want to let on.”

“No one likes a smug know-it all,” Kenobi sniffed.

Deep frown and eyes giving her a silent warning, he passed the keys off to Rey.

“Make sure to close out at the end of each day, fill the till with the money from the money bag in the backroom. Make sure to lock it as well,” Kenobi rattled off as he moseyed his way to the front door. “If there is an emergency, I have a list of contacts in the drawer under the register. They are updated. Also fill up the bowls in the back of the shop daily, the alley cats need food and I’m the only one around here who cares.” He tsked in disappointment, shaking his head for the poor cats on his street. Reaching the door, he gave her a small nod. “I am sure you will be fine, Rey.”

Rey beamed at his praise; he did not give it so freely. “Will you be calling to check in?”

A bark of jolly laughter escaped him. “No! It’s a Single Seniors Cruise! I will be _busy_.” He stressed the word, giving her a stern and direct stare. A blip of nausea rippled through her at his not so subtle implications. “Believe it or not I am quite the desired man among the ladies. This will be my fourth consecutive year on the cruise and I intend to not waste a single second.”

Rey’s eyebrows shot up. “That…was more information than I have ever wanted to hear in my life.” She opened the door, all but pushing him out of the shop. “Please use protection my friend!”

Kenobi cackled in delight all to his car.

Her nose wrinkled. The old bastard.

Turning back to the empty shop, Rey nodded to herself. “I can do this. I can _so_ do this.”

It was only Tuesday; she had nearly an entire week to find her footing. Despite the impending slowness of the week, Rey had plenty she could do, an entire list of tasks she wanted to accomplish before Kenobi came back. Such as organizing the new arrivals, cleaning out the restroom, replacing the light bulbs above the aisles, and perhaps rearranging his misconstrued coffee station.

Loneliness could be her friend, or a motivator at the least.

The emptiness stared back at her, taunting otherwise.

**~*~**

“You want me to do what?” Ben stared down into his phone, eyebrows furrowed. Half past nine in the morning, the last thing Ben expected was a call from Kenobi. He'd been washing the dishes, mentally planning on ordering take-out for dinner so he wouldn't have to cook again. more often than not he skipped breakfast on the daily, choosing coffee and whatever fruit he could find on his kitchen counter before heading out the door.

No one contacted him over breaks. Maybe his mother, however he let her calls go to voicemail.

“Check in on the shop while I am gone.”

“Where could you possibly be going during Thanksgiving?”

“My singles cruise,” Kenobi stated matter-of-factly, “I need you to go and make sure nothing bad has happened. Feed the alley cats. Make sure the AC system hasn't stopped working--It's been giving me problems these last few weeks.”

“It always gives you problems in the winter,” Ben reminded him, recalling how the heater went out during finals week last year. Between final sessions he was making phone calls to ever local heating and cooling repairmen he could find in Yellow Pages and Google. He knew Kenobi wouldn't do it for himself, leaving Ben to take care of the shop’s upkeep. “Why don't you just close the shop up for the week?”

“Because I want to give my new employee an opportunity to prove themselves.”

Ben's eyes snap shut in a wince. Leave it to Kenobi to test his new ‘help’ when there was no need; he had a terrible habit of scaring off any employees he happened to gain. Apparently this one would be no different.

“I'm sure if they have been here this long, they'll be fine. I don't need to be a babysitter for a grown adult, ” Ben reasoned. Contrary to Kenobi’s concerns, the shop was not difficult to manage. The foot traffic was low enough to not cause a headache, but steady enough to bring in proper revenue to keep the business afloat. Anyone with a good head on their shoulders could handle keeping an eye on the shop, especially during one of the slowest week of the year.

“Please do me this favor,” the elderly man insisted, “I like her well enough, but I don't want her to get too lonely.” A tired sigh rasped through the receiver. “There must be some reason she'd be willing to stay on campus during a holiday week.”

“I suppose you're right.” Ben knew what it was like to avoid going home for the holidays. It wasn't fun, but sometimes needed. While Thanksgiving wasn't necessarily one to always warrant a home visit, he knew many people spent the day with those they were close to— whether that be friends, family, coworkers, the list could go on. He knew what it was like to spend the week alone as a student, attempting to make light of the situation despite the heaviness resting inside him. “Alright,” Ben sighed, “I'll check in on her.”

“Once a day?”

“Once a day,” he agreed, effectively ending the call.

He mentally carved out time in his schedule to go check in on Kenobi's new employee. Between grading final essays for each of his classes and outlining for review week, he figured leaving his apartment for an allotted amount of time would do him some good. A change of scenery always did recharge the mind.

Ever the multitasker, Ben figured he could get work done while he was at the shop while also completing his ‘babysitting’ duties.

He did not think much of the matter; a simple favor for his family friend.

That is until he stepped into the bookshop.

Sitting behind the counter, head buried in a book, and chestnut hair falling out of a haphazard bun, was the last person he wanted to see.

_Rey._

Seeing her should not have been a surprise. After all Kenobi trusted few, and was not one easily won. Logically it made sense he'd hire her, even if he was not one for employees. The elderly man had a soft spot for the girl, perhaps seeing the same eyes in different people, her far too determined gaze an echo of friends past.

Kenobi had said as much.

The fact she was on campus—during Thanksgiving break, alone—should have been expected. She did not have family, nor was she familiar enough with anyone besides her close friends, to warrant a departure.

Hell, he wasn't too sure she even celebrated Thanksgiving, do to her British roots.

Upon hearing the bell above the door, she recited her scripted greeting. “Welcome to _Kenobi’s Records and Books,_ ” she lazily lifted her head from her reading, “how may I—” Her eyes connected with his, and all else seemed to fade away.

“Hi,” he breathed before he lost his nerve.

“Hi,” she echoed back. A shy smile began to form on her lips. The motion stopped before full formation, as though she remembered who she was and who he still needed to be. Half paying attention to her surroundings, she shut her book and began to move out from behind the counter. “What— what are you doing here?”

“I can ask you the same.” His eyes darted between her and the long rows of stacks. “When Kenobi said he hired somebody to help around the shop, I didn't think he meant you.”

“Believe me it's a shock to both you and I.” A hesitant chuckle left her lips, restrained and cautious. His heart sank at the sound. “It took some major convincing, but it worked.”

“Good.” He remained rooted by the entrance, too afraid to inch forward and too brave to leave. “I'm happy for you. And I am relieved he has someone around who I trust.”

She perked, a flash of disbelief in her guarded eyes. “You still trust me?”

The question _‘after everything I've_ _done’_ went unspoken.

“Yeah, I guess I do.” Part of him wanted to shrug, as though to non-verbally say it was ‘no big deal’. However his actions would be the exact opposite of how he felt.

Because he was still upset. Because he still felt pain. Because maybe he was still unsure around her, the distance between them allowing him to dissect every instance with her with more ferocity than before.

“But I don't know if I have the best judgment when it comes to you.”

He ducked his head down not wanting to see the hurt his words caused.

“Understandable,” was all she said. A refrain of silence passed between the two; broken but mending even if it did not seems so. “Do you need anything?”

It took him a moment to realize she wasn't talking about him needing anything from her. His mind could list a dozen of qualities he needed (desired) from her, such as friendship patience, compassion, and understanding. Not until he recognized her concerned, if not confused, stare did Ben realize her question was about him needing anything from the shop itself.

“No, no.” He shook his head, clearing his throat. “Did Kenobi not tell you? He wants me to come check in on you once a day just to see how you are doing.”

“He didn't mention a thing.”

Ben winced. “Sounds like him.”

“No kidding.” Standing taller, a confidence boosting sigh filling her, Rey shrugged in dismissal. “Well, I don't need any help. It's a break; no one is even around. I already completed each task I wanted to accomplish this week within the first two hours of being here.” She pursed her lips, not entirely proud of her speediness. “If you want you don't have to stop by. I can just shoot you a text to let you know the shop is still standing.”

She seemed keen on the idea. Understandably so; they'd gone two weeks with little word spoken. Only two and a half more were needed until the end of the semester.

But like she said, it was a break, there was no one around. Campus was dead; a ghost town.

“I think I'll stay,” Ben said, pressing himself to step further into the shop. “It can get a little lonely and stuffy in my apartment. A change of scenery would be nice.”

A shine of delight reflected in her eyes.

Only she hampered it down within seconds.

“You can do whatever you want,” she reminded him, stepping back behind the counter. The space increased between them, a rapid and measured decision on her part. “I'm just going to be here working and studying.”

“Then I'll be in the backroom. Working.” He made his way behind the counter towards the backroom door, a sudden spike of adrenaline dashing through his limbs. “You won't even know I'm here.”

“Perfect,” came her stilted reply. Her eyes were glued back to her book, fiddling with a pencil, all focus on the tangible objects. Forced and mechanical, the exact opposite of her natural demeanor. “That's just what I want.”

“Great,” he muttered, pushing open the creaky door. His eyes latched on her back. The muscles on her shoulders tensed as she pretended to not be aware of him. He could sense the contrary, Rey like an open book to him. She had been since day one. “Let me know if you need anything.”

“Like I said I don't need help,” Rey told him bluntly, flipping a page. “I'm fine.”

Realizing he was now on the receiving end of a cold shoulder, Ben entered the backroom and made do to settle himself at the desk.

Maybe he was being stupid. Maybe he was being just a shred cruel.

However being a room away from her, not pretending to be something they were not, was better than the alternative.

Yet it was plain to see Rey did not feel the same.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> KENOBI IS THE BIGGEST REYLO SHIPPER EVER, LOL.


End file.
